Ghost of Myself
by Shattered Souls
Summary: Starts between Harry's 6th and 7th year at Hogwarts. Summer at the Dursley's is turning out to be near unbearable for Harry. He soon finds himself turning to whatever he can find to aleviate the situation. R for abuse, mutilation, etc
1. Chapter 1

Format note: Okay, I've been trying to upload this for several days, but the punctuation comes up all weird. I have no idea why. If you do, please let me know, so it can be fixed. I've done everything I can think of, to no avail, but I really wanted to get this up, so please just deal with the weird symbols, and enjoy the story.  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, his acquaintances, and his world in general, belong to JK Rowling. Not the authors of this story. The plot, however, is ours, and we'd appreciate it if it stayed ours. If you'd like to review it, though, you're more than welcome to. Just a quick click on the button at the bottom left corner of the screen when you're done reading. Thanks!  
  
GHOST OF MYSELF CHAPTER 1  
  
The noonday summer sun beat mercilessly down upon the back of the despondent, exhausted coal-haired emerald-eyed young man who had sat contemplating the pruning shears in his lap for the past hour and a half, an hour and a half that should have been spent using said pruning shears to tame the bushes blocking the lower half of the first floor windows at Number Four Privet Drive. He would move his head ever so slightly, listlessly watching the way the hot sun glinted off the sharp silver blades resting across his knees. His vision was spotted, and colors in his line of sight were changing, distorting. He knew he shouldn't be looking directly at such a bright light for so long, but he found he didn't care if his already poor vision were further compromised by his afternoon activity. At least the spots of sunlight dancing before his eyes took his mind away from the constant throbbing of his forehead.  
  
Some wry corner of his mind mused that ruined vision and constant headaches were the least of his worries. Vernon (the boy could no longer bring himself to apply the familiar endearment, Uncle, to the man) would be furious at him when he discovered that Harry hadn't cut back a single twig the entire afternoon. Yet even the thought of the man's wrath couldn't bring Harry to rouse himself to work.  
  
It wasn't that the heat was too oppressive; quite the contrary, Harry had done much more laborious work under hotter, more humid conditions. By comparison, today was downright pleasant, hot, but the air abnormally dry. It was more that he just couldn't bring himself to care, to care enough about his own wellbeing to do the work in an effort to avoid, or at least lessen the wrath of the fat, squat man.  
  
It didn't matter what happened to him, didn't matter in the slightest. 'You're the only person, Muggle or Wizard, who can save the entire world from Voldemort and the Death Eaters, of course your wellbeing, your life doesn't matter in the slightest,' mocked that cruel, wry corner of Harry's mind. He ignored it. He'd been ignoring it since shortly after wounding Voldemort severely in battle that past spring. While everyone was congratulating him, celebrating his attack that forced Voldemort back into hiding, wounding him to the point of near death, Harry was fighting enormous, brain-numbing headaches that could not be relieved, and slowly, quietly, privately slipping into a deep, dark, oppressive pit of despair and apathy. He couldn't bring himself to study, to care about his final exams. He'd barely made passing grades on most of them. He strongly suspected Dumbledore had had a hand in his passing everything, that he had told the professors to grade Harry more leniently in light of his saving the world yet again. Most of his teachers would have agreed readily to do so, Harry knew. In fact, the only class he was sure he had passed by virtue of actual aptitude, save Defense Against the Dark Arts, a class that could very well be renamed "A Day in the Life of Harry Potter," he mused wryly, was potions. Snape would never boost a Gryffindor's grade, the famous Harry Potter's grade, merely because a doting headmaster pitied a student. Ironic, that the man who hated him the most was the only one to treat him decently, fairly. But even Dumbledore's perceived act of kindness didn't arose even a token emotion from the boy sitting mutely, frozen on the front lawn of his only living relatives. He couldn't bring himself to care whether he passed or failed, not in the slightest.  
  
So he didn't notice the heat of the sun burning the back of his neck, didn't notice the sweat dripping slowly from his forehead, forming small rivulets down his face, didn't think of the empty owl cage in his room, or the absence of any mail for him since the term ended, didn't remember that today was August second, and that his birthday had gone as completely unmarked as it had for the first eight years of his life at Privet Drive, didn't hear the sound of a car pulling into the drive, didn't notice Vernon approaching him until the man's beefy hand made contact with the side of Harry's head, sending him reeling, the sharp thwack echoing through his skull, amplified.  
  
"Get up, freak," that sickening voice growled, its tone commanding as only the voice of a weakling assured of his authority can be. "You good for nothing drain on my resources, what's keeping you from earning your keep, mutt? Get to work, ingrate. We'll see who's playing Mister I'm-so- superior-and-above-work tonight, boy!" He raised his hand again, ready to deliver the same treatment to Harry's other check when a blaring car horn roused him from his blind rage.  
  
"Hey, Dudley!" a voice called from a beat up, rusting heap of metal mounted on four mostly round oversized wheels, chains hanging from the body of the vehicle. "Dudley, get your fat arse out here!" called a second voice, this one issued from the head stuck carefully out the passenger window frame, its owner not wanting to find said head severed at the neck by the jagged glass that had once been the full window.  
  
The Dursley's pride and joy soon came ambling out the front door of Number Four Privet Drive, pausing in his labored walk to the vehicle only once, to throw his entire strength into a short, quick punch to Harry's face. Harry barely winced as the blood poured down his face from his broken nose, choking slightly on the teeth swimming in his mouth.  
  
"Bye, son!" called Vernon, waving his hand once to the now-receding heap of metal. His attention was then brought immediately back to Harry, face turning a brighter shade of reddish purple as he again forced himself to look at the boy. "Why can't you be more like Dudley, going off with his friends to help out at the church homeless shelter?" demanded Vernon. "Must be the ungrateful freak blood running through your veins. You do have veins, don't you, boy? Or are you too good for that, eh? Is that why the blood is all running down your face?" He laughed maliciously at his own perceived joke.  
  
Harry kept his gaze fixed on the spinning ground near Vernon's feet, registering detachedly that at some point, he had lost his glasses. He brought his lips up slightly at the corners at the thought of Vernon and Petunia believing that Dudley was really going to help feed the hungry. More likely he was off to mug the beggars and stand in the food line himself, beating up anyone who dared get in his way. Harry soon regretted that smile, though. Not because of the sharp, searing pain it caused him, but because it brought Vernon's wrath down upon him, redoubled.  
  
"So you think it's funny, boy? Is that it?" barked the man. "I'll give you something to laugh about!" With that, he grabbed Harry by the ear and dragged him into the house, up the stairs, and into Harry's room, where he threw the boy onto his bed. "Yes, this will leave you roaring!" he cried, slightly crazed, as he rolled up his sleeves, stretching his arms a bit, and flexing his hands before setting them into massive fists. Harry closed his eyes, resigning himself to receive the beating he knew Vernon had been aching to deliver for the past six years of his life, ever since Hagrid had come and taken him from the Dursley's care. He struggled against the first fourteen punches, then went limp, knowing from experience that by this point, Vernon was so caught up in his fists that he would scarcely notice if Harry were to manage to slip away. Not that he could, with the fat man sitting on Harry's knees, causing them to hyperextend painfully under the stress.  
  
He'd never been able to get away, not a single one of the times his...this man had beaten him, starting when he was four. He had tried, oh how he had tried, but after the ninth or tenth attempt to escape, he knew he was better off to just submit at once, putting up a token struggle until the man completely lost any vestige of thought, awareness of his surroundings or victim. By the time he was five, he had learned exactly when that point was, two seconds after the fourteenth punch. When he escaped, the resulting punishment just lasted longer, was more severe. But if he didn't struggle, Vernon would stop, grab him by the shoulders violently, and shake him, try to "shake some fight into him." And so he learned.  
  
Some far corner of his mind registered that this time, the beating was much more severe, lasting much longer than any other ever had. Six years of pent up rage and anger, finally released because Vernon knew Hedwig, Harry's only contact with the wizarding world, was gone, and that Harry hadn't received a single letter, let alone package from any of his "freaky accomplices" since parting from them at the train station. And he knew Harry was weak, weaker than he'd been in a very long time. Vernon never did beat on Harry when he was feeling well, when he had had a decent meal recently, or had had a decent night's sleep. He always waited until after he had refused Harry a meal, or had kept him up from dawn until well past midnight. He always preyed on the weak, the ones he knew he could beat. That he feared a boy of ten, eight, four, was laughable. Unless, of course, you were that boy, and feared Vernon even more than he feared you and your "freakish" blood.  
  
An eternity passed, and the sun began to set. A barely conscious Harry noted that Vernon seemed to finally be letting up, tiring. His glasses were long gone, his eyes nearly swollen shut, vision blurred by blood, so he couldn't see whether the man was finally tiring, but it seemed that the blows were less frequent, less forceful. A tolling clock echoed through the house, echoing through Harry's head from miles away. He heard a low, monotonous growl, and registered after a few minutes that Vernon was speaking.  
  
"Leaving boy...Petunia to dinner...stay out of trouble." A cruel, hollow, maniacal laugh punctuated the fragments Harry heard. He sensed that the lights in his room were turned off, and a few minutes later heard a distant thud as a door slammed shut, and the sound of the Dursley's car turning over and puttering out of the driveway.  
  
He lay in bed for several minutes, focusing on breathing, keeping the breaths shallow in an effort to ease the searing pain that gripped his chest every time he inhaled. His mind, long since detached from the pain his body felt, registered that several ribs were broken, but that the lungs seemed as of yet unpunctured, as his breathing was no different from the labored wheeze that normal followed these beatings. 'Funny, how some things you never forget,' interjected that vicious wry corner of his mind. He didn't have the energy to tell it to shut the hell up.  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry worked himself to a seated position, his head spinning wildly in the process. The bathroom, he needed to get to the bathroom. Acting on an autopilot established many years ago, long before going off to Hogwarts, Harry began to edge blindly towards his door. He soon found him self sprawled out painfully, half on the floor, half in a box of sorts.  
  
His school trunk. An object not engraved upon the mind of a frightened, aching six year old. As he moved, ever so gingerly, to bring himself to an upright position once more, his hand brushed against a smooth, cool glass bottle. He grabbed it reflexively, carrying it with him on his long, torturous trek to the bathroom. Once there, he set the bottle down gently on the counter, and sat down on the closed toilet seat to rest, exhausted. His mind, tired of cataloguing pain and injury, at a loss as to what to do with half the sensations it felt, focused its energies on the small glass liquid-filled bottle it knew to be on the counter, barely discernable through the slit-opened eyes. A potion. For school. A magic potion. Snape, had something to do with Snape and a test. A precaution of sorts? Yes, a potion for the final exam. The practical, a dangerous potion to make, so they were instructed to concoct a healing potion, a strong one, before taking the test. Something about having to wait to get Madame Pomfrey meaning severe permanent injury. 'Trust Snape to try to kill you on the final,' interjected that wry observer. Healing potion, potion to heal. Potion to heal injury. His hand reached for it, shakingly brought the bottle to his lips. He couldn't force the liquid into his mouth, couldn't swallow it, couldn't afford to waste any of the precious liquid, a few mere milliliters all the bottle contained. Water, must drink water  
  
He stood up, careening towards the sink. He turned on the faucet, then cupped his hands under the running water, bringing them up to his lips. His mouth was filled with blood and he could barely open it, but he knew he had to drink water, had to replace the fluid he had lost to bleeding during the beating. The water trickled in drips and drabs into his mouth, barely enough at any point to do more than moisten his mouth. He felt the greater part of the fluid pour down his front, and made a mental note to mop up the bathroom before the others got back. But he persevered, taking drop after drop of the cool, soothing liquid into his aching body. After a long while, he had no idea just how long, time had a habit of losing meaning when he was in this state, he finally felt strong enough to try to take the potion he had stumbled across in his school things, grateful to have found it. 'Thanking Snape twice in one day? What would that man think?' queried the ever-talkative wry audience of one in his mind. He willed the voice into silence as he again brought the potion to his lips.  
  
The first few drops discouragingly trickled down his chin, but the rest soon found its way into his mouth. Before he knew what he was doing, he had finished the entire bottle. Harry had hoped to leave some for future emergencies, but there was no helping that now, the best he could wish for was that future beatings would be much less severe. He stumbled back to the toilet and sat down, waiting for the potion to take effect.  
  
A new sort of pain soon wracked through his body in sharp, distinct waves. One, two, seven, nine, eighteen, Harry soon lost count. Yet he sensed that with each wave, with each pass of the potion through his body, he was a little bit better. His breathing eventually returned to near normal, and he could almost completely open his eyes. His vision was still atrocious, on account of his loss of his glasses during the beating, but he was almost back to a near-normal state, certainly able to function. He stood up slowly, not wanting to shock his body with too much too quickly, and took a few more gulps of water. His forehead throbbed, the familiar headache unrequited, and now again at the forefront of his consciousness.  
  
He edged slowly down the stairs, sensing by the darkness and the moonlight that it was very late at night, and that the Dursleys should all be abed and asleep. It was safe for him to venture to the kitchen and search through the garbage for a bit of food for dinner. He didn't dare take anything fresh; surely it would be noticed first thing in the morning. He contented his growling stomach with an apple core, at least three days old, and some crusts from that day's sandwiches. After his small feast, Harry leaned against the kitchen counter, letting the food settle in his stomach, allowing himself to rest before continuing back up to his room. After several minutes, he took a deep breath, gathering up his strength, and made for the staircase.  
  
Halfway there, by the front door, he nearly tripped over something. He would have, surely, had he not seen it glint in the moonlight. He squatted down to see what blocked his path. The gardening shears, from this afternoon. He must have had them in hand when Vernon dragged him into the house, dropped them part way to his room. And the Dursleys, being lazy, left them, as always, for Harry to clean up and put away. He sighed as he reached out to pick them up, deciding to take them with him up to his room, then put them away in the morning, not wanting to deal with Vernon yelling at him because he had left them there for the whole family to trip over.  
  
As he reached to grab them, his vision being poor, he grabbed at one of the blades instead of the handles. He gasped slightly as the blood seeped from the small wound in his palm. The detached corner of his mind analyzed the wound, noted that it wasn't nearly as painful as the previous ones it had received, that in comparison, this was almost pleasant. Harry watched the fuzzy shape of his hand grasping the handle of the shears, bringing a blade down upon the opposite arm, resting it there briefly, the cool metal oddly welcome against his skin. Then the pressure increased, and the blade began to rub against his skin, sawing at it, his mind marveling detachedly at the sensation. He found himself drawing his head down to get a better view as the blood began to pool, make slick little lakes and rivers along his arm, seeping out of the cut, mixing with the dirt and bits of grass and leaves on the blade.  
  
He set the shears down, awed by the sight of the blood on his pale skin. He just sat there, staring at it in the moonlight, mesmerized. Slowly, the pain became more acute, and that clinical corner of his mind registered that the potion had worn off, would be of no help for these new wounds. The thought was enough to jolt Harry back to the present, to his reality. He needed to get upstairs, to tend to these new cuts before the Dursleys awoke. He picked up the shears once more and ascended the stairs, stopping briefly in the bathroom to find a bandage to wrap up his arm, not bothering to wash it off first, then took a few more mouthfuls of water, and went back to his room, collapsing on the blood-soaked bedding, head now throbbing in pain. He set the gardening shears down under his bed, a spot formerly reserved for letters and packages from his friends, and drifted off to sleep, allowing himself for the first time that summer to think of how his friends had all abandoned him. 


	2. Chapter 2: Beatings

Right, after a fantastic first chapter by Twisted Silver Dagger I'm going to be doing the second chapter. Sorry to disappoint all of you, my fellow writer will be doing the third chapter. For now you're stuck with me, so I hope you'll survive it. Without further adieu I'll get started.  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. is owned and trademarks of Warner Bros. and JK Rowling. The plot however is owned by the writers. Mostly Twisted Silver Dagger though.  
  
~@~  
  
The sun shone brightly and warmed everything that it's rays touched. It was late afternoon and most were enjoying the sun. Some people sat on lawn chairs reading the newspaper, some snoozed while others were sunbathing. The sun was an object of oppression to one person however. Harry was the unfortunate person that was feeling the wrath of the blazing sun. He had been working in the garden for well over seven hours now and he was still nowhere near finishing his work. At the moment he was mowing the lawn while he could feel his skin burning from the sun.  
  
He limped as he pushed the lawn mower along. The beatings from the man he now only called Vernon had taken their toll. He shuddered a little at the thought of his beating he got after his aunt had found the blood from his cuts on his bed sheets. It seemed to him that she couldn't wait to tell her husband. It was then that Harry found that the pruning shears would become his best friend. It never let him down, it was always there for him, not like the people he had thought were his friends at Hogwarts.  
  
He gave a small snort as he carried on pushing the mower at the thought Hermione and Ron. Neither had bothered to contact him, to find out how he was or even wish him a happy birthday. Did they not care about the abuse he was receiving? Did they not care if he was all right or not?  
  
"Did they ever care?" Harry said softly to himself.  
  
After another twenty minutes of tiring work Harry was finished with the task of mowing the lawn. Harry hated mowing the lawn, but Vernon insisted that because of the drought that the grass had to be kept trim. Vernon reasoned that by doing this the grass wouldn't need much water. It did however give Vernon the chance to give Harry more work to do. He insisted that Harry mow the lawn every day to keep the lawn in its short condition, or else. Harry always knew what the or else would be, another beating.  
  
Harry pushed the lawn mower and out it away. The sun was high in the sky and it was now entering late afternoon. He still had a lot more manual, backbreaking labor to do. His next task was to prune his aunt's rose bushes. He went to where the pruning shears normally were and noticed that they weren't there. Surely he had brought them down from his hiding place? Yet they weren't here.  
  
"Damn." Harry said out aloud as panic began to fill him.  
  
He wasn't allowed in the house unless all of his work was finished, but there was no way that he could finish his work without the pruning shears. Harry sighed, there was nothing else he could do except sneak inside, get the shears and sneak back out before anybody saw him. He snorted in anger, because this was much easier said than done. As it was he was limping from his bruising and injuries inflicted by Vernon, now he had to move about quickly and silently. There was however one reprieve, and that was the fact that his oversized cousin, Dudley, was out doing more 'charity' work. That would at least make his difficult task a little easier.  
  
Harry knew that if Dudley were there that he would just love to get Harry into trouble. Harry knew that while Vernon beat the living hell out of him Dudley would look on with envy, a lust in his eyes that told Harry he would just love to give him a beating as well. Harry would've carried on this train of thought, but he wanted to get his task over with as soon as possible.  
  
Walking, actually, limping towards the back door, which led into the kitchen, Harry listened at the window. He heard nothing, no clink of cutlery or dishes. That must mean that his aunt Petunia wasn't in the kitchen. Harry cautiously entered the kitchen and listened at the inner door, still no sound. He breathed a sigh of relief, so far things were going well for him, a rare occurrence he felt.  
  
He opened the door and winced as the door creaked as it opened. Yet he held it where it was and was again relieved that nobody had come. Harry looked up at the stairs and saw that once more the coast appeared clear. He slowly and painfully limped up the stairs and got to the top out of breath. Harry couldn't explain it but he had been feeling very weak as of late, just climbing the stairs left him near out of breath.  
  
Taking two deep breaths Harry went to his room and heard a noise, which instantly made him freeze. After a few moments he heard another sound and looked around him. He was still alone yet every now and again the sound would pop up again. Harry moved towards his room and heard the sound, louder this time. He heard a grunt from the Dursely's main bedroom and grimaced. He didn't want to know what was going on.  
  
Going into his room he got down to get the shears. Once in hand he tried to stand up and suddenly a spasm of pain shot through his tired back. He moaned in pain and was stuck in the uncomfortable position he was in as he tried to stand up. The pain was excruciating yet the spasm was in full swing rendering him immobile. He moaned again and clasped his free hand over his mouth.  
  
The noises from the other room ceased and Harry knew that he was in trouble. He forced himself to stand right up, forcing the breaking of the spasm, incurring a ton of pain. He limped quickly from his room, shears in hand and reached the bottom of the stairs as he heard the click of a door upstairs. He was in the kitchen quickly and stumbled falling face first into a kitchen chair. A warm fluid started running from his nose and Harry knew exactly what it was. It was blood and he had just further hurt his already battered nose. His nose was of course injured because of Vernon. But he had to get up and get out of the kitchen.  
  
He could hear the creaking of the stairs as the heavy weight of Vernon Dursley came down the stair. Harry was on his feet, holding his oversized clothing over his nose and was out as fast as he could go. He went straight for the rose bushes and fumbled with the pruning shears. He knew that if Vernon stuck his fat head out of the doorway and didn't see him busy that he would be in for yet another beating.  
  
Harry started to prune the roses as best as he could with his shaking hands and noticed that his hands were wet and sticky. Harry saw that somehow he had re-opened the cut he had gotten from the pruning shears about a week ago. Harry was so tempted to relieve some of his stress. Yet he knew that Vernon would soon be peering out of the kitchen doorway seeing if Harry was loafing or goofing off. Harry resumed his pruning of the roses, and sure enough not a minute later when he heard a voice that he hated with all of his heart.  
  
"BOY! HAVE YOU BEEN INSIDE?!" roared Vernon Dursely.  
  
"No." Harry said flatly carrying on with his work.  
  
"DON'T YOU TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME! MAYBE I SHOULD COME AND TEACH YOU SOME RESPECT!" Vernon roared again going purple in the face.  
  
"DEAR! I'M WAITING!" came the screeching voice of his aunt from upstairs.  
  
His uncle waved a finger in warning at Harry and then disappeared back inside. Harry wished he could have just taken hold of Vernon's fat finger and broken it. Suddenly Harry felt very weak and dropped to his knees. The pruning shears fell next to him and Harry was staring at the ground feeling very dizzy. He felt the blood begin to drip from his nose again and watched as each drop fell to the ground and make rivulets in the sand around the rose bushes.  
  
His scar burned and pained immensely and Harry felt like he was going to be sick. After a few moments and some deep breaths Harry felt a little better, but totally drained. He couldn't explain what had just happened. Sure his scar had hurt before, but it had never left him in such a drained state. He shrugged it off, he was sure that his beatings must be finally getting to him.  
  
Forcing himself to get up Harry took the pruning shears in his bloodied hands and started to prune them to the best of his ability. In his current state this proved to be a very difficult task because his vision was blurred and at times he saw two pairs of pruning shears in front of him as he tried to trim two roses when he had started out only trimming one.  
  
~@~  
  
Night fell and Harry was finally finished. He was so tired, exhaustion didn't grasp just how tired he was. His legs felt like they were made out of jelly and he could hardly see straight. He was feeling weak, but he wouldn't show any sign of weakness in front of Vernon. To show weakness would be to give some satisfaction to that overgrown hippopotamus.  
  
Harry stood shivering outside the kitchen door. Though the night air was warm he felt cold. He felt so dizzy that he almost collapsed, but he knew that he shouldn't do that. He wasn't going to give Vernon the satisfaction.  
  
"BOY!" Came the thunderous roar of Vernon from inside, indicating that Harry could now come inside.  
  
"Speak of the devil." Harry muttered and half limped, half staggered into the house.  
  
Soon Harry stood before Vernon who was glaring at him. Harry so badly wanted to just collapse and let sleep overwhelm him, yet the pinnacle of his hatred stood before him. He wasn't going to fall.  
  
"Took your time doing your chores didn't it?" Vernon said his voice dripping with malice.  
  
Harry glared at Vernon, he hadn't even eaten since his watery soup that morning, he had worked non-stop right through the day. The blisters on his hands along with the cuts were also bleeding slightly. These were evidence of the hard work he had done, yet he was being accused by Vernon that he was taking his time.  
  
"Oh ho! By that look on your face I see you disagree with me!" Vernon said rubbing his hands with a look of sick delight on his face.  
  
Harry swallowed, he realized what was coming next. He didn't want to be beaten, not now, not when he felt so weak. But, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, Harry readied himself for what was to come.  
  
"Ah, so I see you know what is going to happen. Yes, well your insolence will not be tolerated and you will have to be taught a, hmm, lesson, yes a lesson." Vernon said nodding his head and chuckling evilly.  
  
"Now get up to your room, I'll be along shortly." Vernon said and returned to finish watching his television program.  
  
Harry groped his way down the stairs cursing Vernon every step of the way. With every pain that shot through his body he cursed Vernon. Finally reaching the top of the stairs Harry then went into his room.  
  
~@~  
  
Not long after Harry had entered his room he could soon hear the creaking of the stairs as Vernon made his way to Harry's room. Harry sighed and prepared himself for the worst. Suddenly the door to his room slammed open and in the doorway stood the grotesque form of Vernon Dursely.  
  
"Ready for your punishment boy?" Vernon said smiling, a smile that sent a shudder down Harry's body.  
  
Vernon approached Harry with startling speed for a man of his size and seized Harry by the collar. He lifted Harry a few inches off of the ground and started to shake him. Harry didn't understand why Vernon was doing this because he was only becoming more disconcerted than he had been feeling a few moments before. However Harry only realized to late that Vernon had him out of his room and near the stairs.  
  
"I heard you enjoyed flying in your freakish world boy! Here's your chance!" Vernon yelled and threw Harry with all his might over the stairs.  
  
Harry sailed through the air and landed with a sickening thud about two thirds of the way down. A resounding crack echoed after he landed and he tumbled down the rest of the stairs. Harry felt a world of pain shoot through his right arm and saw that his arm was twisted at a horrible angle. The pain seemed to stand out more than the rest that was coursing through his body. His world started spinning and he felt like he was floating in the air.  
  
Harry discovered that he was in the air, suspended once more by his collar in the ham-like hands of Vernon. Vernon carried Harry all the way back to his room before dumping him on the floor. Harry tried his best to focus but the room kept on spinning.  
  
"Now begins the real fun!" Vernon cackled maliciously.  
  
Harry turned on his side and saw Vernon working with his belt buckle. Soon the belt was removed and Harry gasped. Vernon wouldn't! He couldn't! Could he? Vernon advanced on him and Harry found that he was shivering.  
  
"Take this you insolent brat!" Vernon roared and hit Harry across the face with his belt.  
  
Words could not describe the feelings that were going through Harry at this moment. The pain from the lashing of the belt was excruciating, but the relief that he wasn't going to be raped by Vernon was unbelievable.  
  
~@~  
  
The beating carried on for hours and finished in the early hours of the morning. Vernon finally stopped when he realized that he needed to sleep before going to work. Harry was a bloodied mess. He lay in a pool of his own blood, physically beaten, nearly destroyed, yet his mind was functioning fully. Many thoughts were going through his head. Harry found himself wondering about the wizarding world. He found himself thinking about what people might be thinking of him.  
  
"If only they could see the great Harry Potter now. It would give the Daily Prophet something to write on. 'Harry Potter Beaten to Death by Deranged Uncle,' would be the headlines of the story." Harry muttered as blood dripped from his torn mouth.  
  
Images of his friends went through his head. Images of Hermione and Ron went through his mind. He felt himself becoming angry at these images, angry because the people they belonged to had abandoned him. Not one had written to him, neither seemed to give a damn about him. What would they say if he died? Killed by his muggle uncle. That bastard Vernon Dursley.  
  
Thoughts of death filtered through his mind. He thought how easy it would have been to just give up. He knew that it would make Petunia and Vernon Dursley the happiest people on earth. Next to Draco Malfoy that is. Yet Harry found himself smiling. He knew that he wasn't going to let himself die. Oh no, he would not give anybody the satisfaction of that happening. He would suffer as much as could be possible before giving in.  
  
Then there was the matter of his so-called friends. He wanted to give them a piece of his mind. Last year they had told him they couldn't tell him much or keep much contact because they were instructed to do so by Albus Dumbledore. Harry seriously doubted if this was the case this time however. As these thoughts were going through his mind he suddenly found himself thinking about Cho.  
  
Cho Chang, the seeker of the Ravenclaw and a girl he found himself fancying. Well, he didn't know much anymore. All she seemed interested in was speaking about Cedric Diggory. Every time they seemed to get close she would bring up the topic of Cedric and him being dead. Harry just couldn't win. It appeared as though Cho wanted to be with him, yet when she was she would only want to speak about Cedric. He just couldn't compete with a man that was dead. He didn't blame Cedric, but he just wished that Cho would move on.  
  
"Maybe if I died she would speak about me." Harry muttered wondering on this thought.  
  
Though he found himself chuckling to himself. He knew that even if he were dead he would never get the attention from Cho that she gave Cedric. She had always liked Cedric more and Cedric was an impressive person. Harry was her second choice at best he reasoned. Harry gave up on the subject and decided that he wanted to relieve some of his pain and frustration.  
  
Crawling to the loose floorboards he finally opened them and felt around looking for the pruning shears and their sharp blades. Harry was shocked to find that he could not feel anything. Then it hit him, he had left them outside. That was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do. Not only could he not relieve his pain and frustration, but now Vernon could find another reason to beat him senseless. He'll come up with some excuse about them rusting or something like that.  
  
Harry sat up and winced as his broken arm flopped to his side and hung limply. Harry shook his head and wondered if things could possibly get any worse.  
  
"I wish you were here Sirius." Harry said as his eyes began to fill with tears.  
  
~@~  
  
That's it, nothing much. Please read and review and look for the next chapter from Twisted Silver Dagger. It should be great. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter & co. don't belong to me, or Lost in a World of Pain. They're the property of JK Rowling, and whoever was lucky enough to get the merchandising rights. The plot, however, does belong to us. You can say what you think about said plot by clicking on the little square button at the bottom of the page to submit a review, after reading this. Oh, and this rated R for a reason, so don't read if you're really squeamish.  
  
Ghost of Myself  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Harry woke up a few hours later, somewhere right before dawn, judging by the slightly lightening sky outside his window. He winced in pain, barely suppressing a moan as he lifted his head slightly from the pillow. His cheek once again felt wet. Damn. The clotting blood must have attached itself to the bedding. Petunia would have his head on a platter when next she washed the sheets. But then, she only washed them once, maybe twice a month, so maybe he would be at school before she found out... If only he were that lucky. Given the way his life was going right now, he wouldn't be surprised if she started washing them twice a day, if only to give Vernon more reason to beat him up. Not that Vernon required much reason. Breathing seemed to cut it most times.  
  
Cut. What Harry wouldn't give for the garden shears right now. The thin, burning pain, the blood, controlled, precise, painful yet beautiful. He looked down at his arm, at the faint, silvery scars, barely visible, hidden under the crusted blood from Vernon's latest attack. Battle wounds, survival wounds, marks to bear with pride, scars no one would ever know about. Not that anyone would want to see. Who wants to see a crazy hero?  
  
And he knew, on some level, that what he was doing was crazy, that it wouldn't make any sense to anyone else. But it was the only thing that got him through the day anymore. That one moment of complete control, of release. That one thing he could do to prove his life was still his own to control, to play with, that he was still alive. They were scars he could be proud of, crazy scars that proved his sanity, proved his grip on reality. Scars that were his own, not like that stupid lightning bolt branded across his forehead. That one wasn't his, never was his. It belonged to the wizarding world, to The Daily Prophet, to wizards' dreams of a hero, to young wizards' fantasies and adventures, to the Deatheaters. To a little boy whose parents died in a car crash, a little boy who died when he was four, the first time that massive fist pounded down upon that scar.  
  
But he couldn't make anymore scars right now, not without the shears. He couldn't stay here like this, either. Slowly, painful, every nerve screaming in agony, Harry sat up, then managed to balance on his feet well enough to hobble into the bathroom across the hall from his room. He tried to be quiet, but he was so consumed by his pain, he didn't much care. Upon reaching the bathroom, he sat down heavily on the toilet lid, resting. Years of practice had trained him to not look into the mirror, not yet, not until he had had a chance to clean the most superficial of wounds. He knew he would be beyond recognition, that the sight might be enough to make him throw up. No, not throw up, that would mean having something in his stomach 'to' throw up. But the dry heaves and gagging were just as bad, if not worse.  
  
So Harry took one of the dark towels, running it lightly under warm water, just enough to make it damp, and slowly, gently began to clean the blood from his skin, patting delicately at the skin, occasionally applying a little more pressure, or rubbing when the blood was to stubborn. It hurt like hell, but he couldn't go downstairs tomorrow looking like this. He had tried to, once, when he was five. He had blocked most of the memory of what Vernon had done in retaliation, but what little he did remember made his stomach turn, and his body quake. Best not to think of it right now, not when there's still so much to do to become presentable, and too much work on too little sleep waiting for him with the morning as it was.  
  
After washing down his skin, Harry examined his wounds, then grabbed a bar of soap, creating a small lather on the bloodied towel. He ran the towel over his skin, cleaning the wounds as best he could, then passed over the skin again with an unsoapy corner, to wash away the bits of suds. Most of the wounds didn't look too bad, but there were a few that would need greater attention.  
  
With a shaky hand, Harry nudged open the mirror, careful not to look at it, revealing the medicine cabinet behind it. He took out the bottle of antiseptic, carefully removing the top, and applying just the slightest drop to the worst of the wounds. He knew Petunia watched things like this like a hawk, and if he used too much, she'd be furious at him. And Vernon would get to go at him a second time in one day.  
  
The final wounds tended to, Harry put the bottle away, and closed the cabinet again. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the tank of the toilet, and let out a sigh. A wave of acute pain wracked his system. He looked at his body, trying to find the source, when he noticed his left arm hanging limply in his lap. Being right handed, Harry hadn't needed to use the left hand or arm in his ministrations, so it was only just now that he realized it was broke. He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to combat the pain, cursing his body for letting the shock wear off his senses, bringing everything back into sharp focus.  
  
For all it hurt, though, the break didn't look that bad, once Harry could bring himself to examine it more closely. He'd certainly had worse; this one hadn't broken the skin. He should be able to make a makeshift splint for it, come morning, once he was outside, and had access to twigs to stabilize the bone. He'd have to bring fabric with him, though. The Dursleys would skin him alive if he ruined any of the hand-me-downs he'd received from Dudley, or any of the linens. That left his school robes. Oh well. If he really needed to, he could replace it at Diagon Alley, with the money he had at Gringot's. Assuming, that is, he ever went back to the wizarding world. At this rate, he might be dead before school started. Or maybe they didn't want him back. Hell, his best friends hadn't deemed him good enough for a single word of communication this summer. Why would anyone want him in school?  
  
Shaking himself from such thoughts, knowing they wouldn't do him a lick of good, Harry stood up, and turned on the faucet, cupping his right hand to catch water and bring it to his lips, careful to keep his left arm as still as possible. After drinking as much as he could, Harry made his way back into his room. He went to his trunk and rummaged around for one of his older robes. It was quite odd, Harry mused, that after all these years, the Dursley's had finally decided to let him keep his school things with him during the summer. Though maybe, at this point, they'd finally realized that one of the greatest forms of torture for him was to have his Hogwarts things at his fingertips, but not be able to use them. Because if he did any magic at all, he'd be expelled from Hogwarts, and with it, in all likelihood, the entire wizarding world, now that it thought Voldemort was gone. And so would go his only chance of escape.  
  
He soon found a suitable robe, and, wrapped up in it, his wand. He held it lightly in his hand, lovingly, fantasizing about hexing everyone into oblivion. Or maybe just himself. That would work, too.  
  
The soft grey light in his room was becoming stronger, signaling the fast- approaching dawn. A few more hours, and it would be back outside. Back to the backbreaking work, the Dursley's commands and screams, splinting his arm, explaining the rusted pruning shears.  
  
Harry's ever-present headache, somewhat dulled by his constant state of pain, returned with blinding force. Colors danced before his eyes as he clutched at his skull, falling back into his bed with a thunk. He was in too much pain to even care if the Dursley's heard it. He started hissing as he felt like he was starting to swirl, the pain shooting from behind his scar to his eyes and ears. He wished his head would just explode, if only to alleviate this unbearable pain, pressure.  
  
Then slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to recede. All that was left was the familiar throbbing ache, and the burning pain of his scar.  
  
Even this was out of his control, even these headaches, these attacks from Voldemort. A creature who he had supposedly weakened to near death. Near death shouldn't have this much power. Yet another thing in his life Harry had somehow managed to completely screw up. Just like getting his parents killed, Cedric killed, Sirius killed. Sirius.  
  
The thought was too much for Harry to bear, he couldn't stand it any longer. He flailed his hand around, frantically searching for his wand. Fuck being kicked out of Hogwarts, out of the wizarding world. He needed relief NOW, dammit! After a few seconds of eternity, his hand found it, and he grasped it tightly.  
  
"Accio gardening shears," he murmured, not able to make his voice any stronger. He waited for a moment, then tried again, his voice a little stronger this time. Still nothing. Not even the familiar twinge of magic snaking up his arm. Absolutely nothing. Harry tried a few other spells, simple ones from first year, thinking perhaps this was too complicated, too difficult a spell for him, given his state. Still nothing. Not a damn thing. No magic in the slightest. His wand didn't work anymore. He pounded the bed in frustration, ignoring the resulting pain that shot up his arm. Why? WHY?!?!?  
  
Dumbledore.  
  
It came to Harry in a flash. Dumbledore had decided that the safest way to keep Harry safe, given the unreliability of some of the "guards" from the Order of the Phoenix, was to cast a massive magic-free zone around Number Four Privet Drive.  
  
Harry took his useless wand, and shoved it back into the trunk, punching all the contents in an effort to alleviate his anger. He was past caring that it was just like Vernon, that it was what Vernon was using him for. He didn't give a damn anymore. He needed out, needed release, and there was no way to get it. The very thing that had landed him in this hellhole, the reason for his parents' deaths, his living here, Vernon hating him to the point of abuse, the whole wizarding world, was the same damn thing that kept him from finding any peace, any release, any comfort now.  
  
He heard something shatter as something below his fist gave way. He rummaged through the trunk to find out what, more from boredom and frustration than any real desire to know what he had broken. He soon found it. Just an old glass vial from potions, empty, now shattered at the bottom of his trunk. He was trying to cover it back up with his robes when he brushed his hand against one of the pieces. He drew his hand back quickly in pain, instinctively sucking at the blood on his finger.  
  
Blood.  
  
Harry snapped his hand out of his mouth, examining the cut. Not as neat and precise, nor as deep as the cuts he could get from the shears, but it would do for now. Hell, at this point, if he had any fingernails to speak of, he'd be using them.  
  
He shoved his hand back into the trunk, carefully removing anything that had fallen on top of the broken vial. Leaning over the edge of it, face close to the bottom in an effort to see, his glasses still missing, Harry looked greedily for the pieces of glass. The grey light was brighter now, dawn much closer. He could see better, but it also meant he was that much closer to having to go back to work. At this point he didn't care, though. He just needed to cut.  
  
After careful examination, he found three pieces that were large enough, and sharp enough to be of any use. They were rather small, and Harry didn't know how long they would last before they dulled, or broke. The glass wasn't very strong. But it was better than nothing.  
  
Sitting back on his bed, Harry took one of the pieces in hand, resting it lightly for a moment on his left forearm, just staring at it, before increasing the pressure and dragging it slowly across the skin, drawing blood in the shard's wake. Each cut made him feel a little bit better, made the unbearable pressure building up inside him go away just a little bit more. He could feel his control starting to fade, as the cuts became quicker, less precise, more frantic. More, more, he needed more, needed to bleed, needed the pain, needed the mind numbing release. Just him and the glass and the blood. His arm, covered in blood, rich red, slightly black in the pre-light of dawn. He started making cuts on his leg, blindly giving himself over to the relief washing over him, when he felt the glass snap under his hand, snapping him back to some semblance of reality.  
  
His eyes widened in fear, taking in the sight of his limbs, blood smeared everywhere. The glass lay in three pieces on his bed, a fourth in his hand, so tiny. What if it had chipped, had gotten stuck in one of the cuts? He gathered up the pieces quickly, trying to mesh them together, like a puzzle. He relaxed a little, as it appeared that they were all there, it hadn't chipped, but he couldn't be certain.  
  
He looked out his window once more. The sun was just starting to peak up over the horizon. He'd be expected to be waking up, getting to work soon. The others might wake up soon, too. He couldn't risk going to the bathroom to wash up. He looked at his skin again, panicking. If the Durselys found out...it was bad enough already, he didn't need this, too.  
  
He tried mopping the skin with his school robe, the one he was going to splint his left arm with later, anyway, but the coarse fabric just seemed to aggravate the bleeding, pulling at the edges of the cuts, making them bleed more. He started to feel weak, lightheaded as he lost even more blood. He looked frantically around the room, searching for something, anything, but there was nothing of any use, not even a bottle of water to wash them with, or use to rehydrate himself.  
  
He couldn't lose this much blood, let himself get this dehydrated! He had to try to stop it, conserve it...  
  
His stomach began to turn as a thought occurred to him. A way to conserve the blood, to stay hydrated, at least a little. But he couldn't think of anything else.  
  
He slowly lowered his mouth to the cuts, praying he wouldn't throw up, and that the saliva would form enough of a film to staunch the bleeding, allow the blood to clot before he passed out. 


	4. Chapter 4

Alright all, after one hell of a long time not writing and contributing to this story, I would like to start off with a few words. First off, a huge, HUGE apology to my co-writer Twisted Silver Dagger. I can't say just how sorry I am that I've not posted the next chapter for such a long time. It is a very poor show on my part. I can't say how sorry I am. But, hopefully this next chapter will make up for it.  
  
I'd like to thank Ginnygal and the other anonymous reviewers for reviewing the story thus far.  
  
~@~  
  
Harry battled with fighting down wave after wave of nausea. In fact, he had to stop and swallow hard to keep the rising bile down. Fortunately the saliva from his mouth seemed to have done the job. The wounds weren't bleeding that much and the blood was clotting. Harry let out a sigh of relief but then remembered just how bad he looked. Going to the bathroom again was definitely an option, in fact he was supposed to be downstairs making the Durselys breakfast right now. He looked around his room as panic began to settle in.  
  
And then it hit him! He would just wear one of Dudley's huge long sleeve shirts and a pair of jeans! That would hide all of his wounds and allow him more time to try and figure out how to get himself cleaned later. Hurrying to the cupboard was that held all of his huge winter hand-me-downs Harry tried to lift his left hand to open the cupboard and the result was instantaneous. Pain shot up through his arm as he forgot about the fracture and he felt himself swooning on the spot.  
  
Dancing lights flashed in front of his eyes as everything blurred. He placed his right hand out and leant against the cupboard to steady himself. After a few moments the pain passed and he stood breathing heavily. He quickly took the clothing that he sought after and with some difficulty and pain he pulled it over his head. Now he had to get downstairs and make breakfast for the people he loathed so much. Harry only hoped that he could manage using only one hand.  
  
Harry heard a snort coming from Dudley's room and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that nobody was up yet. 'Typical' he thought as he made his way down the stairs trying to keep his left arm as still as possible. The Dursely's only awoke once the aroma of his cooking reached them. Harry started to take out all of the pots and pans using only one arm. Harry found himself smiling as he managed to perform numerous tasks to get breakfast ready with only one arm. He was managing rather well and felt a little pride build up at his accomplishment.  
  
Soon, once the bacon was sizzling and the eggs frying, Harry could hear noise coming from upstairs. This told him that that good for nothing, lazy Dursely family were finally getting themselves out of bed. Harry started hurrying up so that he wouldn't get too much scolding for whatever wasn't too their satisfaction this time. He did however struggle with trying to squeeze oranges for them. Trying to turn the oranges around the sieve was not an easy task, using one hand that is.  
  
Unfortunately for Harry it proved to be too big a task. While trying to accomplish the task Harry knocked the sieve with all the juice in it over and orange juice and pulp fell all over him and the floor.  
  
'Shit! This is just great! Now that damned Vernon will have an excuse to worsen my beating today!' Harry thought as he frantically tried to clean the mess up.  
  
"Well, well, well, well. Now what do we have here?" came a voice that made Harry freeze in his tracks.  
  
"It would appear that you've gone and messed up my dear wife's spotless kitchen. Oh my, what a shame." Vernon's voice dripped with menace and sarcasm as he spoke.  
  
"I guess that means that you'll have to be punished for that, oh yes indeed." Vernon said with what sounded like joy in the anticipation of being able to further abuse his nephew.  
  
Harry remained silent, knowing that if he said anything it would only increase the severity of what that bastard might have in store for him.  
  
"Now serve our breakfast you loathsome runt. I'll see to your punishment once you've finished your chores. I won't give you the satisfaction of escaping them, oh no. You will finish them all or you're punishment will just have to be increased! Ah ah ha ha ha ha ha!" Vernon said and laughed what sounded like a horse to Harry.  
  
~@~  
  
Harry was now outside looking at the incredible amount of work that lay ahead of him. The memory of Petunia and Dudley walking into the kitchen as he was cleaning up after setting the food down was still fresh in his mind. She had gone ballistic at the sight of the mess and was convinced that Harry had done it on purpose just to spite her. Her doting husband had come to her rescue and reassured her that Harry would not get away with his actions.  
  
Dudley had looked on with an evil grin on his face as piggy eyes were like slits as he looked at Harry. He did so enjoy it when his dad went 'Harry bashing.' After a few minutes of coaxing from her husband and then yelling her head off at Harry, Petunia Dursely finally calmed down and only ate a mouthful or two of her breakfast. Dudley had ensured that the food didn't go to waste.  
  
'None of this would've happened in that pompous bastard hadn't broken my arm.' Harry thought to himself as his face dropped at the sight of his first task. He chuckled in bitter irony as he saw that he had to chop wood. He didn't know rightly why he had to, because the fireplace had been resealed (after the Weasleys had broken through it two years ago). The electric fire was once more in place. Harry suspected that Vernon had just ordered the huge log pile so that he could create more work for him.  
  
He still remembered when Vernon had ordered all of the heavy logs. It was a huge truckload and it had all been dumped on the side of the road on his orders. Harry then was given the task of taking it all to the back of the house and stacking it into a neat pile. He had to restack it a few times after Vernon had remarked that it didn't look right to him. The blisters that had resulted from that physical labor were horrible. They were all open and bleeding. Harry couldn't even hold a spoon properly without being in total pain.  
  
Now he had been ordered to chop all of this wood up. Harry held the small hatchet that Vernon had given to him so that he could chop the wood. This would be a hellish task because he only had one arm he could use properly. Chopping would was a very difficult task with two fully functioning arms, but this. Harry sighed and resigned himself to the task.  
  
~@~  
  
After six hours of painful, backbreaking chopping Harry had finally finished the amount that Vernon had assigned for him to do. His left arm was in such pain that he felt like taking the hatchet and chopping it off. He lifted the left sleeve of the long sleeved shirt he was wearing and looked at his arm. He winced as he saw that the skin was purplish in color and he could see that the bone was now jutting out at an awkward angle. The skin had not yet been pierced, but the bone was about to come through it.  
  
A wave of nausea swept over Harry at the sight. The fact that all he'd had all day to eat and drink was warm water and stale bread didn't either help. It was a very hot day and he was sweltering in the sweatshirt that he was wearing. He mopped his wet brow with his right sleeve and heaved a heavy sigh.  
  
What was the point of all of this? What was the point of his life? He had done nothing wrong, and yet was being subjected to torture each and every day. Why couldn't Voldemort have finished him off in their previous encounters? Or maybe it was him? Maybe he was such a failure that he couldn't even die properly. He shrugged, who knew, he just wondered how long it would be till he couldn't cope with this life anymore.  
  
Hell, he was coping now, he was barely surviving. What had happened to those people whom he had once called friends? Ron and his family along with Hermione. Neither had contacted him. They didn't give a stuff about him, leaving him in this hellhole. Another sigh came from him and he dragged himself to his final chore for the day. Harry decided that he had better hurry up; otherwise Vernon would add his being late with his chores to his punishment.  
  
His final chore was using the pitchfork to dig up and toss the soil in the flowerbeds. Once again this would prove to be a most difficult task as well due to the fact that he was only working with one arm. His left was now almost completely useless and throbbing from the pain.  
  
~@~  
  
Another three hours later Harry was finished with the turning of the soil and felt like he was at the verge of passing out his left arm hurt so much. He just wanted to get inside and rest, but he knew that he first had to try and get through Vernon's punishment for him tonight. He was just about to try and look for some strong branches for a make shift sling when he heard the bellowing voice of Vernon from inside of the house.  
  
"Harry you lazy maggot! Get yourself in here now! You're late with finishing your chores! You know what's going to happen because of that." Vernon roared, the delight could easily be heard in his voice.  
  
Harry found himself try and not shiver at the tone of Vernon's voice and abandoned his search for the branches. His punishment, no, his beating was looming over him and he knew that if he didn't hurry inside there would be no telling what Vernon would do to him. Doing his best to rush inside he was halted by Petunia to make sure that he wasn't dirty.  
  
Of he was scolded for trying to walk through her clean kitchen in the state that he was in. Harry didn't mind the scolding so much, except for the fact that it only made him later and later for Vernon. He was sure that Vernon was getting angrier and angrier by the second. Each moment he was late would only mean more pain in the form of a more intensified beating. Harry sighed as his scolding was over and made his way out of the kitchen up the stairs.  
  
Each step he took he found that his heart began to beat faster. Each step was as if he were walking into the jaws of hell itself. Well, he could just as well be, because he was walking to a man worse than devil himself (or so he thought). Some of the steps creaked under his weight, and he wondered if the creaking of the stairs would be an omen for maybe more bones being broken this evening.  
  
He was now standing in front of the door to his room. It was closed, surely that was not a good sign.  
  
"Where the hell are you boy!!" Vernon roared, allowing Harry to know that Vernon was indeed in the room beyond the door.  
  
With a tentative had Harry reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it. The door swung open with a slight creak, the interior seemed to beckoning for Harry to enter. 'Like a lamb being led to the slaughter.' Harry thought to himself and entered.  
  
"Took your time didn't you boy?" Came a growl from behind him.  
  
As Harry turned to face Vernon his world exploded into pain as he was struck with something cold and hard in the face. His glasses shattered from the impact, as he was sent flying across the room and landed hard on his left arm, which exploded in pain. Harry felt a wetness just below his right eye and knew what it was, blood.  
  
Looking up through squinted eyes he could make out Vernon looming over him with a lead pipe in his hand, it had a single red splotch on it, the spot where Harry had just been struck. Harry tried to shift into a better position with his broken left arm, but knew that nothing he did could really help.  
  
"So, you mess up my wife's clean kitchen, take your time with your chores and ignore me when I call you? Oh, you will pay boy, that you can count on." Vernon said advancing on him with the lead pipe raised over his head.  
  
Harry suppressed a silent scream and waited for what was to happen next.  
  
~@~  
  
A/N Hah! That's it, I'm going to be very irritating and leave the chapter there. Kind of a poor attempt at a cliffhanger but what can you expect when I'm writing? Nothing good shall come. Hope nobody was bored too much. I'm sure Twisted Silver Dagger will make up for this shoddy work in her next chapter. Again apologies to her and everybody else for the long time it took to write this rubbish. Sorry, I really mean it.  
  
Cheers Lost in A World of Pain 


	5. Chapter 5

Alright, as promised I've decided to try and carry this story on, on my own. I don't know if I'm going to be able to reach the high standards set by my co-writer, but I will endeavor to do my best. I don't know when she's going to post again or even if she's going to post again. Thanks to those that have thus far reviewed the story. I hope that after such a long time with no writing being done on this story that it will still have a following. Right, herald the return of the story and the writings from Shattered Souls!

Harry closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable to happen. He waited and waited yet the blow never came. Finally he dared to open his eyes wondering what had happened. This proved to be a big mistake because just as he opened his eyes an evil grin covered the face of Vernon Dursley and he swung the lead pipe. He had been waiting all along for Harry to open his eyes so that he (Harry) could see the blow hit him. The effects were as one would expect it to be with such a blow. Harry's face exploded open and blood flew everywhere.

Vernon Dursley had hit Harry square between the eyes and a huge gash exploded where the blow had landed. Harry's glasses where shattered and had actually been impounded into his flesh from the force of the blow. It was a truly sickening sight to see, one that Harry's evil uncle reveled in. It was however not the end, but only the beginning.

From Harry's perspective all he saw was the descending lead pipe and suddenly it felt as if the ground he stood on was rumbling and spinning. His head had exploded in pain and his vision was blurred. All he could see were red movements due to all of the blood and his now shattered glasses that had been hammered into his face. His eyes stung from the blood that was freely pouring from his open wound.

"Oh my, look what you've done boy! You've messed my dear wife's floor up! Look, blood all over!" Vernon roared at Harry in a maniacal way.

Harry's head was spinning and his legs felt like jelly. Battling to stay conscious was an all out effort for him right now. It would probably have been easier for him of he had just passed out, but to Harry, even in this weakened state, giving up was not something he would readily do. As he heard his wicked uncle's voice speaking to him he looked up. The words were muffled as his ears wrung out as an aftershock from the blow.

"Get down and clean it!" Vernon yelled and clubbed down on Harry again, hitting him just above where he had hit him earlier.

Once more Harry's world was rocked and this time he fell falling hard to the ground. His head hit the floor with a sickening thud and mat a kind of a splatting sound as he fell into his own, newly formed, puddle of blood. Nothing was in focus for Harry anymore and all he could hear was the rasping of himself trying to breathe as he lay in his ever increasing puddle of blood.

"Blast it boy! Look at this! An even bigger mess! Right, that's it! Up to your room!" Vernon roared his voice taking on a crazed tone.

Harry was now not entirely aware of what was going on around him after the second blow. His limbs felt numb and he even the earlier blurs that he saw were hazy. One thing that he knew he did see was that everything was a crimson red. He lay face down and found that at the present his greatest challenge was to keep breathing because each breath he took ached and burned. There was the iron taste of blood in his mouth and a wave of nausea swept over him.

"Not going up eh? Think you're above listening to me do you? Well, I guess you're going to have to be punished. Up to your room boy, now." Vernon said in a now calm but cool and deadly voice.

The ringing in Harry's ears had subsided slightly by now and he could make out the words punish and room. A soft moan escaped his lips as many horrendous thoughts flooded Harry's mind. He had not heard all that Vernon Dursley had said, but from experience he had heard enough to know that he this was just the beginning. The sadistic man that was his uncle only by marriage was going to beat the living hell out of him.

"GET UP!" Vernon yelled kicked Harry hard in the ribs.

The pain from the kick brought Harry mostly back to his senses. He became aware of just how much pain he was in and that breathing was now more difficult than ever after the kick. What Harry did know was that he'd better get up, or at least try, before more abuse comes immediately his way and Vernon finds more 'reason' to give Harry what Vernon termed punishment. Another wave of nausea swept over him and Harry kept on thinking that he shouldn't throw up, not now, it would serve as more ammunition for the beast torturing him.

How he did it Harry didn't know but he was standing up. He'd used all of the little amount of strength that he had to stand up. Though he was swaying a lot and looked as if he would collapse at a moments notice. Harry staggered onwards, his ultimate destination his room. The momentum from his staggering caused him to stumble and fall at the foot of the stairs. Harry couldn't clearly see where he was at the moment, but he knew the layout of the house well enough to know that he was in the vicinity of the stairs.

'How am I going to get up the stairs?' Harry thought to himself trying his best to stand again.

The fall proved disastrous for Harry because Vernon, along with his weapon, was just behind Harry. Nothing was going Harry's way because this provided yet another opportunity for Vernon to inflict yet more pain onto Harry.

"Messing up this area as well? The kitchen's not good enough for you?" Vernon spat in a menacing voice looking like a lion closing in for the kill.

As Harry somehow managed to get to his feet another huge blow exploded to the back of his head. His head exploded in yet more pain and his eyes lolled back facing upwards as he collapsed. Harry's body twitched a little as he hit the edge of the first step of the staircase leading to the upper rooms of the Dursley house. Any strength he had managed to muster up was now totally gone. Blood poured from a new gash just above Harry's fringe line while yet more spilled from the blow he'd received to the back of his skull.

The fall was just what Vernon must have wanted because as he surveyed Harry's twitching body an evil, deranged smile spread over his fat and now purple face. He dropped his tool of punishment and grabbed Harry by his ankles and looked up the stairs nodding.

"Right, lets get you to your room, then the punishment can begin." Vernon said laughing as he started turning Harry's body.

Facing the stairs with Harry's ankles clasped in his fat hands, Vernon began to walk up the stairs dragging Harry's limp body behind him. As he walked up each and every step on the staircase there was a sickening thud as Harry's face bounced off the stairs. A trail of blood was left in their wake as Harry continued to lose still more blood from his numerous head wounds.

Finally, after the horrendous trip up the stairs, they had reached the top of the stairs. Vernon was out of breath huffing and puffing away from the exertion of dragging Harry's dead weight behind him. His now near purple face was glistening with sweat droplets.

"Oh, puff you'll pay for this as well huff boy." Vernon muttered as he struggled to regain his breath.

Still holding onto Harry's ankles he dragged Harry to his (Harry's) room and opened the door with one hand. Harry's released leg fell to the ground with a loud thud. Now, holding onto only one ankle, Vernon dragged Harry into his room. He looked around and after a few moments of looking he spotted what he had been looking for. He dropped Harry's other ankle and took a few moments to regain his breath.

While he was regaining his breath he looked at Harry's motionless form and saw that it was moving ever so slightly. The movement was the rasping breaths that Harry was taking. He pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and mopped his sweat-laden brow. After a few minutes Vernon had regained his breath and started to get Harry up to his feet. Vernon had to entirely support Harry (he held him by his neck) because there was no strength left in Harry to open his eyes, let alone to stand.

Vernon took his handkerchief and cleared the blood out of Harry's eyes, which remained closed. Then with a podgy hand he ripped Harry's glasses out where they were embedded. This effect caused Harry's eyes to shoot open and a shrill cry escaped from his mouth.

"Ah, so glad to see you're awake. I wanted you to see what I'm going to do to you boy." Vernon said and chuckled to himself in eager anticipation of his next act.

'What now? Haven't I suffered enough?' Harry wondered to himself wishing he could just die so that the pain would end.

"No more blood in your eyes? You should be able to see what's in front of you. What is it? WHAT IS IT?" Vernon said and then yelled the last question over when Harry didn't respond.

"My.....window....." Harry rasped as he squinted and vaguely made out the window in his room.

"Very good." Vernon said cackling in delight.

Harry wondered just what Vernon could mean by this comment and what he was getting at.

"Have a nice trip boy, hope you enjoy it." Vernon said and went into motion.

Vernon, still holding Harry by the neck, rushed forward propelling Harry forward with him. He stopped just short of the window, but he launched Harry through the window (it was closed). Harry was shocked at what happening to him, this was something he had not thought could happen to him. There was an explosion of glass as Harry soared through his window into the air and plummeted to the ground, falling in the rose bushes the Dursley's had made him take care of so much.

He landed awkwardly, left arm first. The result was not unexpected as it snapped after the impact. Harry couldn't move, he didn't want to. He had just been thrown out of the window of the second floor of a house. To add insult to injury Vernon leaned out of the window and was roaring with laughter at the sight of Harry's broken body below. Vernon stopped laughing and then spat a huge gob of spit that then landed on Harry's chest before going back inside.

Harry now found himself caught in two frames of mind. One part of him just wanted to die and let all of this suffering end. His will to live had been extinguished, he couldn't see any light at the end of this tunnel. Only torture and abuse without end seemed to loom in his immediate future. However the other part of him refused to just give up so easily. After all he had already gone through, was he really going to give up? After all that Sirius had done for him was he going to just die?

'Sirius died for you.' A small voice in his head echoed.

That one thought was the clincher, no matter how bad his condition was, no matter how much he had endured or will endure, he just couldn't give up. Sirius's sacrifice was not going to be in vein. His basic instincts began to take over. The primary instincts that are found in all humans now ruled his thoughts. One word, one thought stood out in his mind, and that was survival. Harry had to get out of this place if he wanted to survive.

But he couldn't do anything now. He was in a bad way, his arm was broken and his entire body ached from the fall. Not to mention his numerous cuts, gashes, lacerations as well as the incredible amount of blood he had lost. He needed to regain enough strength to get himself mobile and then he would find a way to get out of the Dursley home. Harry lay in still, many thorns from the rose bushes embedded in his flesh.

After two hours, Harry had his eyes open, Vernon stuck his head out of the window and called down to him.

"I see you're still awake. That's good, because tomorrow you can then clean up the mess you made earlier. Sleep well." Vernon said sarcastically and then his fat head disappeared.

Harry didn't react, he just lay motionless trying not to pass out from the pain that wracked his body. Soon the lights of the Dursley house went off and all was quiet. From where he lay Harry could make out the loud snores of his fat cousin Dudley. Harry somehow managed to stand up, with much difficulty and staggered to the front door of the house. It silently swung open as he approached and Harry staggered inside. How he managed it, although he didn't care, he saw that his trunk and his other essentials floated towards him.

Harry turned and walked back out of the house, the door magically closed silently behind him. Harry just walked, actually staggered, until he was well away from the Dursley household. He made his way to a dead end alleyway and then collapsed at the end his trunk falling next to him. A sudden burning of his scar and stabbing pain in his chest was what caused him to fall at last. Harry was exhausted and he just couldn't move anymore, the pain was worse than what even the evil Vernon caused him.

'Is this how it's going to end? After finally escaping I'm going to die in an alleyway?' Harry wondered to himself as he lost consciousness.

A/N Alright people, that's all for this chapter. I really don't know what to say about this chapter. I've kind of lost the storyline I think or the rhythm. I'm not entirely happy, but then again I never am. I hope it holds true to what was written thus far and that none were to disappointed. It's going to be difficult trying to write without Twisted Silver Dagger for the time being. I hope those of you that do actually read this will bear with me. Thanks if you did read it.

Cheers

Lost in A World of Pain


	6. Chapter 6

I would like to thank those of you thank reviewed the long overdue update on this story. Thank you very much for your patience and loyalty, I'm very happy that the chapter wasn't all disappointing. I'm going to try and do my best to make this chapter interesting.

Pedro was walking quiet as a mouse keeping to the shadows. Years of living on the streets had taught him that to not be seen was the safest thing for him. Pedro was a street urchin that has been fending for himself since he was a toddler. This night he found himself wondering where he would find himself his next 'pigeon'. He had been forced to give up the little money he had when one of the local alley gangs had 'persuaded' him that if he wanted to keep his teeth he'd give over his money.

With the agility of a cat Pedro slipped down a very dark alley and stopped as he heard a muffled sound. Frozen in his tracks he listened carefully for the sound again. After a few moments there was a low but distinct moan a little over to his left by a pile of boxes and a few overturned trashcans. Pedro hopped over without making a sound and peered in the midst of the rubble to see who the moan belonged to.

"Lady luck is smiling on Pedro today. This person has probably drank to much and is sleeping it off here. Maybe they have money." Pedro whispered to himself as was much his habit to do so.

Pedro carefully and quietly crept over to the moaning person and a huge smile crept over his face as he spotted a large trunk lying near the person. He rubbed his hands together and started towards the trunk. Pedro however was a very curious boy and couldn't help but get a look at this person who he was about to relieve of his possessions. He about faced and made towards the person who had stopped moaning.

Grabbing on the persons clothing Pedro as carefully as he could turned the body over and peered at the persons face. A gasp escaped Pedro as he saw the badly beaten and swollen face of the person. He now became aware that he was standing in puddle. It wasn't like a normal puddle though, this one was sticky. Pedro leapt back as he realized exactly what it was he was standing in.

"Shit! Bloody flipping hell! What happened to this person?!" Pedro exclaimed as he went towards the person he moaned a little again.

Pedro peered at the near motionless person and shuddered at the sight. After a few more moments of examination Pedro saw that this person was actually not much older than he was. This wasn't a man, this was a boy like him. Something within him stirred and after a few more moments thought Pedro nodded.

"I will help you. It's not nice to be beaten and bloodied with no help. Pedro knows. Pedro knows all too well." Pedro said and proceeded to move the body and take his belongings to a place of safety.

Harry's entire body was wracked in pain. Suddenly his eyes shot open and he raised his arms up in defense.

"NO!" Harry yelled.

This caused poor Pedro, who had been gently prodding Harry to wake up, to fall over and let out a small yelp of his own. A few moments passed before Pedro recovered from his shock and then he cautiously went back to Harry.

"You ok? Pedro did not mean to hurt." Pedro said.

Harry slowly let down his aching arms and peered at Pedro.

"Wh- who are you? Wh- where am I?" Harry asked taking a small look at his surroundings.

"Ah, yes, forgivings, I am Pedro, I humbly welcome you to the home of Pedro. I found you. Brought you here so that nobody could hurt you anymore." Pedro said a huge smile on his face sounding very proud of telling Harry what he had done.

"Pedro, I, I can't........" But Harry didn't finish his sentence as he grabbed his head as a searing pain flashed in his scar.

"Are you ok?" Pedro asked his smile now gone.

Harry sat still for a few moments as the pain very slowly ebbed away. He was breathing hard and felt very weak and dizzy. The pain was too much and his recently acquired wounds didn't help any, only adding to his pain. Harry swooned and fell back into a world of darkness.

"That was strange. He is not well. What should Pedro do?" Pedro wondered out aloud.

Pedro decided that he could try and clean his wounds. But he'd need clean water to do that. He sighed, because that was far easier said than done. There was no clean water in the alleys, the only place he could clean water from was the houses in the nearby neighborhoods. Pedro immediately searched for a clean container and after having found one he made off.

It was by a strange coincidence that Pedro soon found himself in a street called Privet Drive where he saw that in the front lawn was what he wanted, a tap. The only problem was that it was now late morning and he was sure that the people would be home. This house was however the one that was the most accessible and the only one with a tap that he could see. He decided that he had to take the risk.

All was going well and he had managed to fill his container with his precious cargo. Suddenly he heard a roar of rage erupt from the house. He quickly dove towards the wall and sat in the bushes under an open window. He was breathing hard and clutching his precious cargo with all that he was worth.

"DAMN IT ALL! HE'S ESCAPED!" An angry voice roared from within the confines of the house.

"Well now dear, are you sure about that?" Came a voice from very near the window under which Pedro was hiding.

"OF COURSE I'M BLOODY WELL SURE! THAT RUDDY BOY HAS MADE OFF!" The other voice roared again, closer this time.

"VERNON!" The other voice said in a high pitch.

"There is no need to shout at me. Now are you sure that Harry's gone?" The voice that had moments ago shouted back was calm again, the voice belonged to a woman though Pedro thought she sounded like a near strangled chicken.

"OF COURSE, I mean, of course I'm sure Petunia. He's nowhere to be found and all of his things are gone. Even his trunk!" The other voice said loudly, but no longer shouting.

"Well, in the condition you left him in, I dare say that he can't have gotten far. I'm surprised he made it out." The calm voice said and the clanking of dishes could be heard in the background.

"It's just like I told you Petunia, I've been to soft on him." The other voice said now much closer and Pedro knew that this voice belonged to a man.

"It's just what I've been telling you all the time Vernon dear. You're far to easy going with that child. He never works hard and is as lazy as ever. Not like our dear Dudley dinkims." The woman's voice said pride flowing in her voice as somebody else in the background grunted.

"I'll just have to make sure I'm not so soft with him when I get him again." The man said.

"It's rather a bother isn't it Vernon? I mean, now we have to find him, if his freakish friends come back they'd certainly wonder where he is." The woman said.

"Damn, I'd not thought of that. That's it Petunia, no more easy beatings for that boy, I'm going to beat him within an inch of his life when I bring him back. No more going easy on him." The man said and Pedro heard the distinct slam of a hand banging on a table inside.

Pedro was frozen in fear as he heard these people talk so casually about beating somebody. Then things started to fall into place. He was sure that the boy he found was the very one that these grown ups were speaking about. He looked at the water filled container in his hands and remembered why he was here in the first place. He crept away from under the window and out the bushes and then bolted out of the yard as quickly as he possibly could.

From inside the house of the Dursley's, Vernon Dursley watched Pedro rush out of their yard. At first a frown and then an evil smile crept over his face.

"I'll be back in a few Petunia. I've got some business to take care of." Vernon said and rushed out before his wife could say a thing.

'That boy! It all makes sense now, Harry couldn't have made it away on his own! That little piece of filth running from my yard must have helped him. And if he helped that blasted boy then he must know where he is.' Vernon thought to himself as he struggled to keep the fleeing figure of Pedro in sight.

Pedro arrived to where he had left who he was sure this Harry was. He took a rag and dampened it with the precious water that he had just gone to get and started to dab at Harry's face that was swollen and covered in dry blood. It was then that Pedro noticed that Harry was shuddering slightly and beads of sweat were forming on parts of his forehead, the parts that weren't smashed up that is.

"This one is very sick. It isn't good." Pedro muttered and placed the wet rag on Harry's forehead and started to try and tend to Harry's other wounds.

"He is weak, beaten and sick. I must get him food." Pedro spoke to himself again.

After fetching his stash of food, which was in a sack, Pedro sat down next to Harry. His stomach growled in complaint and it was then that Pedro realized just how hungry he himself was. Opening the sack he sighed and pulled out a few old slices of stale bread. His mouth watered at the sight of the bread and he looked at Harry. He shook his head from side to side and then put the bread away.

'I can't eat this food. This one here is in a far worse state than me. He needs it more than I. I can find some more later.' Pedro thought and scowled at his stomach as it growled once more.

Harry groaned and he opened his eyes. He had no idea for how long he had been out of it all and could feel something damp on his head that along draped over his eyes. His entire body was aching and he felt weak.

Pedro saw Harry stir slightly.

"Harry?" Pedro ventured trying to see if this was indeed who he thought it was.

"Who's there? How do you know my name?" Harry replied weakly.

"It is I, Pedro, from earlier. Here, you must eat." Pedro replied and pushed the stale bread into Harry's unmoving hand.

Harry wasn't totally sure what was going on around him, but he did now realize that he was extremely hungry. But try as he might, he couldn't find the strength to take the food from his hand to his mouth. Pedro saw that Harry was still shaking a little and he knew that Harry's fever had not broken.

Pedro took the bread from Harry's hand and placed it by his mouth. Harry chewed and ate the bread as Pedro fed it to him, all the while with wide eyes fighting off his own hunger pangs. When Harry was done eating Pedro poured some of the water he had gotten into Harry's mouth. The water was cool and refreshing and Harry drank eagerly. He choked a little and coughed but felt satisfied. It was a strange feeling for Harry.

"Why are you doing this Pedro? I don't even know you, yet you help me so." Harry asked when some of his strength had returned.

"Pedro knows what it is like to be beaten and sick. He knows what it is like to not have anybody to help or look after him. He knows what it means to be hungry. Pedro hates it when he is all alone and nobody will care for him. Pedro couldn't leave you when he found you." Pedro said and once again tried to stop his empty stomach from growling. Harry heard this.

"You gave me your food didn't you?" Harry asked.

Pedro didn't answer.

"Thank you Pedro, for everything you've done for me." Harry said lifting the rag and smiling a little at Pedro.

Pedro smiled back and felt all warm all over. It was an unusual feeling for him. All his life he'd only been concerned with his own well being and taking care of himself. The gratitude from Harry made him completely forget about his hunger.

"Pedro is happy to help. Now rest, you are sick. I will try and get us more food." Pedro said wetting the rag with the water and disappeared into the darkness.

Harry couldn't explain the feeling he was experiencing. He felt safe and secure yet he didn't even know where he was. He hardly knew Pedro yet this young boy was taking care of him and giving what little he had to Harry. Harry fell asleep, and for a long time nightmares didn't engulf him.

"Damn it all, where could that little piece of filth have gotten to? He was just here and now he's gone." A purple faced and out of breath Vernon Dursley spluttered as he tried to regain his breath.

Vernon had been trying to follow Pedro but the streetwise street urchin had easily evaded Vernon. Vernon leant against a wall and struggled to get his breathing back to normal. Just as he was about to give up and go home none other than Pedro ran smack bang into Vernon. Pedro was knocked clean off his feet while Vernon managed to stay on his feet.

"Ah, just the boy I've been looking for." Vernon said his voice filled with menace as he advanced on the fallen Pedro.

A/N And that is where I leave this chapter. I apologize for this chapter. There was probably nothing in here that would interest you all or what you were looking for. It does however set things better for the next chapter. Sorry for taking so long to update. I'll try to update sooner, though I need to update in my other story Surviving Without Sirius. So I'd first like to do that. Thanks to all those that took the time to read and review.

Cheers

Lost in A World of Pain


	7. Chapter 7

Right, I'm back and will as per usual start off by apologising for not updating in such a long time. My pc got a delightful virus and I had to format my computer, which means I lost all of my information and data. So I've finally gotten everything back together and am now going to carry on with the story. Sorry to all those that I've kept waiting. Thanks to those that did read and review the story.

Pedro did his best to try and escape the clutches of Vernon but the fat man was faster than he looked. Vernon jerked Pedro to his feet and lifted him by his neck putting his face mere inches from that of Vernon's. He gagged at the sudden abuse occurring to his throat and felt an immense fear within him begin to grow.

"Now, you will tell me where that Potter boy is you little vermin." Vernon said in an icy tone sending little bits of spittle flying onto Pedro's face.

Pedro was shaking a little he was so scared and the urge to tell the big man holding him was immense, but he felt a strange strong bond of loyalty towards Harry. He couldn't explain why he felt such a strong feeling of loyalty especially since he barely knew Harry. What he did know was that he was going to do his very best to not tell this man where Harry was.

"SPEAK UP!" Vernon roared shaking Pedro slightly as his feet hung helplessly in the air.

Pedro gagged at the shaking motion feeling more strain on his neck. The fear was building up in him yet still his loyalty remained. Seeing that Pedro was still making no attempt at speaking Vernon decided that this street rat would need some 'persuasion' to speak. So he loosened his grip on his throat a little and threw him against a nearby wall.

Pedro felt the grip loosen and saw Vernon shrink a little as he was flung towards the wall. However years of running around the city jumping and falling in the alleys allowed him to arch his body in a way so that the impact was dulled and not as severe as it should have been. But there was a distinct difference between Pedro and Harry and that was that Pedro was NOT Harry.

Vernon stalked towards Pedro sure that his method of 'persuasion' had made Pedro's tongue a little loose. Pedro however was not down for the count and as soon as Vernon was within reach and then he lunged forward ready to defend himself for all he was worth. This sudden attack took Vernon completely off guard seeing as how he was never used to his victims fighting back. Usually they, well Harry actually, would take the punishment in a submissive form.

Pedro launched at Vernon attempting to tackle him down. It was a natural reaction for a person to do that was defending themselves. However seeing as how Vernon was much larger, fatter and had a much lower centre of gravity than Pedro, meant that this tactic didn't work and Pedro was merely brushed off by a startled Vernon. Pedro was not finished though and continued to fight the fat evil creature that stood before him. Pedro knew that this beast was after his new friend Harry and that he would probably kill Harry.

"Pedro won't let that happen!" Pedro muttered as he launched himself at Vernon again.

"What was that you scum of the earth?" Vernon grunted trying to keep his beady eyes on Pedro.

Again Pedro's attack was useless against Vernon's immense bulk. Vernon caught Pedro in mid air and had a satisfied look on his face as he attempted to crush Pedro by giving him a bear hug.

"Oh now you've done it. You will tell me where you've hidden that blasted boy or I might not go as easy on you as I was going to do." Vernon said, though he was lying all the way, for he had the intention of beating Pedro an inch within his life, or more.

The satisfied look on Vernon's face soon turned to a look of utter pain as one of Pedro's wild swinging legs connected to Vernon's genitals. The pressure on Pedro relaxed as he was dropped to the ground. Vernon held himself between the legs as he was gasping for breath. Pedro looked at Vernon and thought that the only was to ensure that both he and Harry was safe was to make sure that this bad, no, evil man was not able to follow him. Taking in Vernon's size allowed Pedro to formulate a plan.

'If Pedro can hurt him in the legs then the evil man can't follow Pedro. Then Pedro will have saved Harry!' Pedro thought to himself and a smile crept on his dirty face, a smile of such joy that had not appeared on his face in years.

Pedro immediately put his newly formulated plan into motion and launched himself, from behind Vernon, and with all of his body weight smashed into the back of Vernon's right knee. As a woodcutter would fell a large tree with one mighty swing of his axe, so Pedro felled Vernon. Unfortunately for Pedro Vernon's knee buckled and Vernon fell backwards, on top of Pedro! There was a resounding crunching sound and a howl of pain from Vernon. A small squeak escaped Pedro as he was flattened and trapped under Vernon's buttocks. (A/N a fate worse than death some might say)

Vernon was holding his knee and grunting in pain. He couldn't believe it, the little street rat had hurt him! Him, Vernon Dursley! He would pay for that if he could ever catch the little rat again. Meanwhile Pedro realised in horror that he was really and truly trapped. No matter how much he struggled he couldn't pry himself loose from the bulk under which he was trapped. After a few minutes Vernon finally realised that there was movement beneath him. He looked that way, taking his attention off of his swollen knee and then the look of pain on his face was replaced by a look of pure venom, hatred and malice.

"So there you are. Oh, you will pay and you will tell me where the boy is." Vernon said his voice icy cold and dripping with ill intent.

Pedro managed a slight shudder under the weight and could only imagine the worst.

'Pedro will not fail Harry, this he promises.' Pedro silently thought to himself as Vernon heaved himself a little and grabbed Pedro out from under him.

"Now, you will tell me where the boy is, or rather, first you will be punished, then you will tell me." Vernon said with a mad look in his eyes.

Above the city all seemed calm and serene. Birds sat on the many ledges of the buildings nestled against each other trying to share body heat and enjoy the companionship of being by one another. A sudden harsh cry of pain resounded in a particular part of the city, in an alleyway, that scared all of the birds and they all flew away as the shrill cry resounded and cried out again and again and again.

Harry had heard the cries and was sure it was Pedro. He shuddered at the thought of what he was sure was happening to Pedro. That meant that Vernon was out looking for him! Harry was just wondering at the fate of Pedro when he heard a nearby shuffling sound.

"No!" Harry gasped aloud, surely Pedro hadn't told Vernon where he was?

But then again, why shouldn't Pedro? Vernon was very brutal in his beatings, to this Harry could truly testify. Plus add the fact that Pedro had no allegiance to Harry, so why should he endure a lot of beatings to hide where Harry was? Harry's attention was now focused as the sound drew nearer with each passing moment. He found that he was holding his breath and exhaled in a loud gasp at what he saw. There, crawling towards him was none other than Pedro! However Pedro was covered in blood and really looking in a state that Harry could relate to. Summoning all of his strength Harry stood up and went to Pedro's aid, hoping that Vernon wasn't following him.

"Pedro! What happened to you?" Harry asked although he was sure that he knew the answer.

"Ped – Pedro was loyal. Pedro didn't tell." Pedro said to Harry as he was now being helped to his feet by Harry.

Harry took Pedro's appearance in and found himself shuddering. How many times had he been subjected to what Pedro had just endured? He could truly relate and knew that he just couldn't go back to that monster. Pedro's left eye was swollen shut and his right eye was also swollen, but not entirely shut. A large gash on Pedro's head was still oozing blood, but from the blood stains on Pedro's face Harry could tell this had been a freely bleeding wound. Pedro's left arm was held stiffly against his abdomen and his right arm had many open wounds. Harry gasped as he took a closer inspection. Covered on Pedro's arm was rip marks, and what Harry was sure was bite marks, bites from a human mouth.

"What happened Pedro?" Harry asked trying to ease Pedro into a sitting position.

"Harry must not worry, Pedro did not say a word. The hitting was bad, but Pedro did not say a word." Pedro said smiling with pride at Harry.

Harry grimaced noticing that some teeth were missing from Pedro's mouth as his smile showed missing teeth and blood all over.

"But, I don't understand Pedro. Why did you do it?" Harry asked Pedro.

"It is simple Harry, Pedro did it because Harry and Pedro are the same. Nobody wants Harry and nobody wants Pedro. The law of the alley is that we then look out for each other. So Pedro made sure that the monster would not find Harry." Pedro said and stopped as he grimaced, his face contorted in pain.

"I, I don't know what to say Pedro, saying thank you is so, well, it seems not enough." Harry said.

"Harry must not worry. Pedro was happy to help." Pedro said now out of breath.

"Come Pedro, let us get moving before we get found." Harry said.

Although still very much in pain himself, he aided Pedro to his feet and then the two limped off. Harry felt a little at ease that finally he had found somebody that he could relate with, somebody that knew how he felt and it seemed a friend he could rely on till he found a way back to Hogwarts.

A/N Right, that's it for this really, really long overdue chapter. I must apologise as per usual because trying to write it was not easy and I kept on putting off updating. Then my computer was infected by a virus as I said and when I finally got everything up and running I just wasn't in a creative or writing mood. I'll try and update quicker, though I don't know how quickly I'll be able to do that. I think I'll be able to post another two chapters up in the future, then I'll be on holiday and won't have access to the internet.

Cheers

Lost in A World of Pain


	8. Chapter 8

Right, I'm going to start this chapter off by thanking all those that reviewed. As with my other stories written under my own pen name I would thank you all individually but that is not the way this story under this co-authorship was written. So collectively I thank you all. This is probably going to be my last chapter for the year because soon I will be going on holiday and won't be having any access to the internet. I will though try and write the next chapter while I'm on holiday though.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are copyrights and owned by Warner Bros. Inc as well as JK Rowling. The plot of the story was developed by Twisted Silver Dagger and myself Lost in A World of Pain. Pedro is the only character thus far owned by me.

Both Harry and Pedro were staggering through the alleyways. Harry was in a lot of pain while Pedro drifted in and out of consciousness. Harry could only wonder at what his evil uncle had done to poor Pedro. Having experienced first hand just what that insidious bastard was capable of he knew that it could not have been anything good. Pedro's poor appearance gave testimony to that. Harry stopped and looked about him and a cold chill ran through his body. He looked around again and then it dawned on him, he had absolutely no idea where he and Pedro were at the moment. He had just been blundering through the alleyways half carrying Pedro not really concentrating where on earth he had been going.

"Pedro knows where we are. Harry does not need to worry." Harry heard Pedro whisper near him, indicating that he was again amongst the land of the living.

"Where are we Pedro?" Harry asked feeling a small sense of relief to hear Pedro say this.

"Pedro and Harry are in the alleys. This is meaning that Pedro knows the way out of here because the alleys is Pedro's home." Pedro said and Harry frowned, mainly at the fact that Pedro had sort of answered his question while not giving him the answer that he had hoped for.

"Er, Pedro, can you tell me how to get us out of here?" Harry asked hoping this time that Pedro would answer the question directly.

"But of course Harry. Pedro can tell you. Yes he can. You see that large half torn up poster on the wall over across there?" Pedro answered and Harry looked in the direction Pedro was indicating.

"Yes." Harry tentatively said spotting the half shredded posted, which Harry was sure was an old Coca-cola advert.

"Pedro will tell you where to go from there Harry, let us get moving. Well, actually, no, we can't. Pedro needs to know something first." Pedro said looking at Harry as they were now sort of supporting each other.

"What is it Pedro? Why can't we go?" Harry asked anxiously feeling frustration starting to mount up within him.

"It is simple Harry, the reason Pedro can't get you out right now is because Harry has not told Pedro where he wants Harry to be taken to. So, where is it that Harry wants Pedro to take him to?" Pedro asked in a very calm and near unnerving voice.

"Oh, sorry about that Pedro. Well, now that you mention it, I've not given that much thought." Harry said his frustration ebbing away being replaced by a now building feeling of anxiety.

Harry thought for a few moments and then an idea struck him. If he could get to a street, any street, preferably a quiet and secluded street, then he could flag down the Knight Bus. But that presented him with a problem. How could he do that while Pedro was with him? There had to be another way. After a little more time of thinking Harry realised that that was his only idea and his only way of getting back to the magical community. Besides, both he and Pedro needed help and he was sure that the wizarding community wouldn't turn a person in need away. Plus, he was sure that the wizards could modify Pedro's memory if necessary.

"Pedro, can we somehow get to a quiet street where there is hardly anybody around?" Harry asked Pedro having now made up his mind.

"Pedro knows! Pedro knows! Pedro can lead you Harry, just follow Pedro's directions and both Pedro and Harry can get to the place." Pedro said showing a bloodied smile.

And so after following Pedro's directions Harry indeed found that both he and Pedro were now standing in a very quiet and secluded street. Night was now falling and there was only one dim street lamp that was burning and giving off any light at all. The street gave Harry an odd and eerie feeling. Both he and Pedro were sitting on the curb puffing and panting. Harry wiped his forehead and was about to pull his wand out when he decided that he felt a duty of responsibility towards Pedro. He had to tell him what he was doing and what was going to happen as well as what might happen. It was the least he could do.

"Well Pedro, the thing is, there is something I've got to tell you." Harry said still trying to figure just how he was going to say what he wanted to say.

"Pedro is listening Harry, what do you need to tell Pedro." Pedro said looking at Harry.

"The thing is Pedro, I, well, the thing is. Well. Hmmm. Let me put it to you this way, have you ever seen anything happen that just didn't seem real? Like, like maybe something that happened that you knew wasn't normal and shouldn't by any rational thought have happened?" Harry finally managed to say as he was still struggling with words.

"Pedro has seen many strange things Harry. Pedro has seen much, very much. People think Pedro is mad when he tries to tell anybody what Pedro has seen. Pedro has now stopped speaking about what he has seen. People say it is because Pedro is a child of the street and that is why Pedro sees such strange things." Pedro said with what Harry was sure was some sadness in his voice.

That was something to which Harry could truly relate. How much throughout his few years in Hogwarts have people doubted his sanity? How many people had accused him of being a liar? Even the minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge, accused him of spinning stories just to try and garner extra attention. The Daily Prophet had published many lies and stories regarding him and questioning his sanity. The more he thought about it the more he felt disgusted. People who had thought the world of him had turned their backs on him, shunned him, without even allowing him to give his own account for the events.

"Well, then that will make this much easier for me to say Pedro. A lot of the things that you have seen, that didn't make any sense, most likely was magic Pedro." Harry said coming straight out.

"Pedro is not entirely sure what Harry means." Pedro said with a look of confusion on his face.

"I think the best way is for me to show you Pedro." Harry said and withdrew his wand.

Pedro looked on with ever increasing curiosity. Harry got to his feet, with some pain, and then gave his wand a little forwards flick, much the same way he did in his third year in Hogwarts.

"Lumos." Harry softly said and his wand shot out with a rather bright light that caused Pedro to fall over in surprise.

"Wow. Pedro wonders how Harry did that." Pedro said while having a very happy and excited look on his face.

"It's magic Pedro." Harry said and before he could say another word there was a clattering sound followed by a loud bang.

In front of Harry, just a little towards his right stood an enormous red double-decker bus. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the Knight Bus stood before him. Pedro was now standing with his mouth hanging wide open.

"Pedro knew! Pedro knew! Pedro has seen this bus before! It comes out of no-where and then disappears!" Pedro said giving one hop of excitement and then stopping as this seemed to be giving him a considerable amount of pain.

Meanwhile the doors leading in to the Knight Bus opened and silhouetted in the doorway was none other than Stan, who still looked as pimply as ever and still wearing his purple conductors uniform.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand and ….and……. blimey! Neville! I, er, that is is say 'Arry! What on earth did 'appen to you? Blimey! You look in a bad way! Choo alright?" Stan asked as he rushed out of the bus to Harry's side.

"As well as can be expected Stan. Look, as you can plainly see my friend and I aren't doing well. We need to get to Saint Mungo's Hospital." Harry said suddenly realising just how sore he was feeling once more.

"Alright 'Arry. 'Ere now, your friend o'er there don look like no wizard to me. Ain't he a muggle?" Stan said as he hoisted Harry's trunk aboard the Knight Bus.

"Pedro has seen this bus before! Pedro has seen it many times! Pedro tried to tell people but nobody would believe him. Everybody said that Pedro was crazy and mad." Pedro said obviously missing the comment by Stan calling him a muggle.

"Oi now, e is a muggle! We can't let im onto the bus. E's a muggle." Stan said scratching his head looking at Pedro who was still looking wide-eyed (or rather one wide eye, the other was still mostly shut closed).

"Oh come on Stan, I'm sure the wizards won't have a problem letting him come on. He also needs help, plus, he helped me get out of that hell hole back there." Harry said becoming frustrated and feeling his pains begin to throb terribly.

"Oi! Ern, what do you think?" Stan called back to Ern the old bus driver.

Ern merely grunted something that neither Harry nor Pedro heard. An oldish looking wizard stuck his head out of the bus.

"Here now! Some of us have got places to go you know! We're…….. damn, what on earth happened to those two?" he said seeing Harry, who was leaning heavily against the bus, and Pedro who seemed to be swaying just a little bit.

"We were attacked and need help." Harry said, feeling dizzy as he realised just how tired he also was.

"But the other on is a muggle!" Stan said pointing to Pedro.

"Look here young man, these two clearly need medical attention! Take them on! It won't be difficult to do a memory charm if the other one's memory needs to be modified." The old wizard said.

Stan stood still for a few more moments before deciding that what the old wizard said did indeed make sense. With a sigh he motioned for both Harry and Pedro to come on board. Harry paid Stan but didn't order any extra hot chocolate, clearly recalling what happened last time he ordered. Plus knowing that Ern was still driving made him even more sure that if he did order hot chocolate then it would most likely end up on the floor of the Knight Bus.

"Easy does it 'Arry." Stan said as he helped Harry to one of the beds that were now littered throughout the bus.

Harry was grateful for the fact that they were placed on beds on the first level on the Knight Bus. Suddenly it felt as if all the world were spinning around him and his aches and pains were growing steadily worse. He lay on his bed, suddenly his scar flared up and a searing pain ricocheted through his body. It felt as if a hot poker was being pressed against his head. He gave a moan and then drifted into darkness.

Pedro on the other hand was too curious and happy by what he was seeing and experiencing to realise just how hurt and sore he was. A few witches a wizards muttered as they looked at the two beaten youngsters. The old wizard quickly went to the front of the bus to have a word with Ern the driver.

"I think you should push those two youngsters ahead of the delivery cue Ern, they need help and fast." He said before returning to his seat.

A/N And that is where I leave this chapter dear readers. I would like to thank you all for your renewed support in reading and reviewing the story. This is my last update for this story this year. I will endeavour to try and carry on updating as of next year. Happy holidays to you all and if this year hasn't been kind to you, I hope the next one will be kinder.

Cheers

Lost in A World of Pain


	9. Chapter 9

This is the first chapter of the new year. I must apologise for it being so late, I've hardly had a minute to myself since being back at university. At any rate, it's great news to hear the sixth book is soon going to be released, I can't wait. Thanks to those that reviewed the last chapter, some really good points were raised and don't worry, I have taken them into consideration. Enough with me wasting your time, time to start the chapter.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are owned and trademarks of JK Rowling as well as Warner Bros. Inc. I don't own anything other than Pedro and the plot, which Twisted Silver Dagger originally helped me develop.

In and out of the traffic the Knight Bus zoomed in and out of the traffic. Even though he had been on the Knight Bus a few times before, Harry still found himself marvelling at the way all objects in the path of the Knight Bus jumped out of the way. He decided to not look out the front of the window or out any windows for that matter. All of the objects zooming by were making him feel queasy, which was truly an unpleasant feeling adding onto the pain and weariness that he was feeling at the moment.

Pedro on the other hand was barely able to contain himself from all of the excitement. He was looking out each window he was thrown to. Nobody was physically throwing him around. He was being thrown about due to Ern's driving. Each sudden turn would throw Pedro, who would always land with a rather sickening thud. However, no matter how hard he fell he would always some how manage to pull himself up and stare out at the window that he fell under. A few of the witches and wizards on the bus were murmuring at what Pedro was doing.

Soon, after a few more minutes of horrendous driving (and a few spills of hot chocolate) as well as a few more sickening landings on Pedro's part, Harry (who had dared a look out the front window) saw that they had finally reached Saint Mungo's. The screeching of tires, beds being thrown forward and sudden stop confirmed this. Harry was now really feeling nauseous from the trip, plus he had a new bump on his head from the trip. He didn't dare imagine how many more bumps and bruises Pedro had gotten from the trip.

They were assisted into the hospital by Stan, Ern and the old wizard. Harry by this time was being supported by Stan and the older wizard while Ern, who wasn't really doing much, was assisting Pedro (whose eyes were darting everywhere in amazement). Harry was struggling to keep his wits about him at this stage, he was feeling ill and his legs felt like jelly. Without even realising it, while he was being checked in, he had passed out.

When Harry next awoke he was in a dimly lit room. From what he could tell he was in a hospital room very much the same as Mr. Weasley had been in last year after the snake had attacked him. Harry couldn't help suppressing a shudder as the memory of him being inside of the snake's head and the feeling of him attacking Mr. Weasley. He wanted to move but found that he was unable. The only part of his body that he could move was his head. His glasses were still on his face. This was strange he thought, because of the many times he had awoken in a hospital room or the hospital wing at Hogwarts his glasses had always been removed. Stranger still, he noticed, that his glasses were completely fixed. Who had done it?

"Ah, hello there young one. It's good to see you're awake." Came a voice that sounded a little old and feeble from his left.

Harry moved his head to that direction and saw one of the healers of Saint Mungo's.

"You really were through the mill eh lad? I must say, I've not seen a person so beaten since the days when the dark lord was at full power. Mind you, most of the people I saw back then where dead, so I guess that's something to be grateful for. Although, I guess things are only going to be getting more difficult and worse now that the dark lord has arisen again. But then again….." On and on the old healer went.

Harry almost started smirking at the way the old healer was speaking and just about having a debate with himself. The healer kept on speaking for a few more minutes before he finally stopped, having just stumped himself with a question.

"At any way, there's nothing we can do that now (Harry didn't have a clue what the healer was going on about, he had lost track of what he had been saying some time ago) nothing at all. At any rate, not unless another Harry Potter comes along." The healer ended with a sigh.

Harry found his eyes wide open at this stage, for it truly seemed that this healer hadn't a clue of just who he was. He couldn't help feeling a little happy, because now he was just being treated as a normal person would have been treated. Then something occurred to him, he quickly looked around the room and then saw that there was space for another bed, but there was nobody else in the room. He wondered where Pedro was. He turned his head back to the healer and was about to ask him when he found that the healer was once again speaking with himself.

"……. and it really was a difficult case. The most difficult I had dealt with for years let me tell you. Lucky for the patient that at that time the full properties of a certain bush had been discovered. It was quite extraordinary, because muggles had been using this bush to make a drink of for years. Sometimes those muggles amaze me. I must say, they are a strange bunch. Why, just the other day I was………." And on and on the healer went.

Harry's mouth was hanging open, because now the healer was speaking about muggles and the strange things they did. Harry couldn't get a word in anywhere. Slowly but surely Harry was starting to feel both tired and frustrated. Minutes passed and the healer had once more gone onto his next topic of discussion. Harry was really feeling wary when a click on his right told him that somebody had opened the door and entered his room. Looking who was entering he felt an enormous wave of relief pass over him. Walking into the room was none other than Professor Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore walked over to the healer (who was still talking to himself, now something about old brooms that gave many splinters during a quidditch world cup of years gone by) interrupted him. They spoke for a few moments and then the healer came over to Harry.

"It was really nice chatting to you lad, you really are a good chatter I must say. Very interesting to speak to. You've a good many thoughts, I'll drop in to check on you, we can talk again. Your principle here wants to speak to you now though, so I'm afraid you'll have to save your next thought for next time." The healer said with a smile before departing.

"Ah, good old Godfrey, age is creeping up on him, but he is a really good healer. Harry, let me first of all start by saying how sorry I am about all that happened to you." Professor Dumbledore said looking at Harry without the sparkle in his eyes, in place was rather a look of true concern.

Harry remained silent. He really didn't know what to say, professor Dumbledore's words rang true. He really did sound sorry, but there was something that bothered Harry. If he was truly sorry, why was he sorry? Why didn't he do anything to stop what was happening to Harry? The look on his face was a look that told Harry it seemed as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking.

"Truth be told Harry, we did for sometime suspect that there was something not right in your letters. They just didn't convey the idea that you really meant what you had written. We had actually attempted a rescue mission, but we weren't able to complete it. I'll tell you more about it later, when you're feeling better Harry. I know, I've often told you this, but as soon as you're better, then I'll speak of this." Professor Dumbledore said in a tone that conveyed the idea that his mind was made up.

"Professor, what about the friend who came with me? His name is Pedro. He came in with me, but he's not a wizard professor. Will his memory be modified?" Harry asked choosing to remain silent as to the information that professor Dumbledore didn't want to tell him.

"Ah, well, now there is a very interesting little character. No Harry, his memory will not be modified. You are correct in saying that young Pedro isn't a wizard, not really one. This news may startle you, but Pedro is actually a squib Harry. I had a chat with him, and it was clearly evident to me what he was. That would explain why he could see the Knight Bus. He told me that he had seen it on many occasions and that people had called him mad saying he was pointing at thin air. Now, don't you worry yourself over him, he's doing well, in fact, although he is also in a poor way, I would venture to say that he is having the time of his life. I will try and see if there is not a way that we can help him. There is after all, nothing for him to go back to in the muggle world. He might even prove useful." Professor Dumbledore said and now Harry could clearly see that the twinkle had returned to his eyes.

A movement behind Professor Dumbledore's back drew Harry's attention.

"Ah, I believe they are done examining him. Well Harry, I will take my leave, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have been notified and are on their way. I see that you can only move your head, don't worry about that. You've been magically placed in traction, the healers here don't want you to move to much while they assess your condition. Your neck may be sore because that has had a charm put on it so that you can move it without injuring it. I'll take my leave now, a healer should be along shortly to come and give you a sleeping potion. Take care Harry." Professor Dumbledore said and left the room.

"Pedro has seen so much!" came the excited voice of Pedro to Harry's right.

"Interesting place isn't it Pedro?" Harry asked Pedro.

"Pedro can not believe what he has seen friend Harry! Pedro has seen much, has heard much, in fact, Pedro thinks that the people here are not good in their heads Harry. Pedro thinks that the one Harry was now speaking to is one of those not good in the head. Pedro is sure of it." Pedro said speaking very quickly.

"Professor Dumbledore? What makes you say that Pedro?" Harry asked curious as to this statement of Pedro's concerning Professor Dumbledore.

"Pedro is sure Harry. The man was speaking to Pedro and he is not right Harry. Pedro was called a squid Harry! Pedro was shocked when he heard it! Pedro could not understand it! Pedro was very confused indeed. I mean, does Pedro look like a squid? Pedro does not even know how to be swimming! Pedro is no fish Harry, Pedro can be slippery at times escaping people, but he is no squid. Of that Pedro is sure Harry." Pedro said stating his case.

Harry couldn't help himself, he had to laugh. It was something that seemed so foreign to him, something he felt he hadn't done in years. But it felt good, it felt really good. Pedro's outlook on the wizarding world was truly something interesting. Pedro looked at Harry in a confused manner and was about to speak when another healer entered the room.

"Time to rest you two, you've had a rough time." She said and gave both of them dreamless sleep potions.

She removed Harry's glasses and soon he could feel the effects of the potion taking an effect on him. Soon darkness overwhelmed him and he was fast asleep.

A/N Well, that ends this chapter. I must be honest in saying I did rather enjoy writing the chapter. It's been so long since I've last written. I miss writing and will try to make more time for writing. It's just all the work from the university keeping me busy. Thanks again to all those reading the story and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's nice working with a character like Pedro. Sorry again for taking so long to update, I'm going to try and update on a more regular basis.

Cheers

Lost in A World of Pain


	10. Chapter 10

Right, after being reminded (and made to feel guilty) by reviewers, I have decided to update this story with the following chapter. I can't guarantee the quality of the writing as I am not entirely in touch with this story so much any more. Currently I am writing two other stories apart from this one and trying to cope with the obstacles that life throws at one. At any rate, thanks to those that reviewed and on to the story!

l—l

Normally a forest would be peaceful and tranquil. The worries and problems of man are never a factor in an unspoiled part of nature. Animals would frolic and go about their lives while ignorant to problems that might be encroaching in the world of humans. Some forests might even hid deep and dark evils. These are contended with and all is in balance. That would be what any forest should normally be like. In far off lands a forest sits enshrouded in darkness. Once it was just like any normal forest, but now no more.

The joyful and happy sounds of the animals in the forest are merely a thing of the past. If one had to walk in the forest you would feel an eerie chill about you. The trees seemed to have been warped by dark magic. They have twisted in odd forms and some taken on the visage of a screaming person. All appear dead. The branches hang with dead leaves that never fall to the ground and don't even stir when a chill wind passes through. Any animals that reside in the forest are mere shadows of their former selves because they have been twisted and changed by unnatural dark forces. Once docile, these animals are now savage beasts that attack any who would dare to enter into their territory.

Ominous dark storm clouds permanently hang over this forest. Sometimes rain falls, but it does not bring any new life or refreshment with it. Lightening continually flashes in the sky above and it is soon followed by a deafening crack of thunder. Due to the darkness that enshrouds the forest none dare to approach it. Only one being is in control of this forest, a being of immense power and darkness that recently took up residence in this place. It has virtually killed the forest and twisted it to it's own purposes. If one were to stand near to the forest you would feel pure evil pulsating from it.

But that is only one place of darkness that can be found in the world. Our story moves away from this place and takes us to the current place where another dark being resides. Currently a storm is raging and drenching anything caught in it to the bone. Though evil permeates the very air here, death does not touch everything. Plants and trees are still alive although hints of evil can be seen in the foliage. Thorns on trees where they should not be and vines that seek to engulf those not welcome in the area.

"Damn it all." Lord Voldemort spat out silently to himself as he paced up and down his room where he currently had taken up dwelling.

He stopped in his stride and peered out of the solitary window that was in his room. Currently his base of operations was an old abandoned hotel of sorts that was two stories high. His room sat at the very top. Long forgotten by muggles, due to magical charms placed on it, it was away from attention and perfect for the Dark Lord's needs. Voldemort moved closer to the window and watched the storm rage outside. Many of his followers were currently cowering downstairs at the ferocity of the storm and just glad to be inside.

"Simple cowards." Lord Voldemort muttered as lightening flashed and illuminated his room that was nearly entirely in darkness.

His features also lit up due to the lightening and as the light passed only slits of red glowing eyes could be seen in the darkness. Thunder roared soon afterwards and a few of his followers downstairs actually fell off of their chairs. Lord Voldemort did not flinch however. Such forces of nature did not scare him, for he was pre-occupied with other matters. His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had had with Wormtail earlier in the day.

(Flashback)

"You bring news Wormtail?" Voldemort said in a quiet voice facing the window in his room not even looking at his servant.

"I- I do." Wormtail said his voice quivering.

"What did you find?" the Dark Lord said in his same tone.

"Well, the thing is my lord, it- it is as you suspected." Wormtail said swallowing hard after this statement.

"Tell me what you saw." Voldemort said still not facing Wormtail.

"M- my lord?" Wormtail said fear etched in every word he said.

"Tell me what you saw fool!" Voldemort said in a tone an octave louder than earlier but dripping with malice as he turned on Wormtail and held him off of the ground with one hand.

"Y- yes my lord! The- the forest is consumed by an e- evil. It's unnatural. E- everything is dead my lord. There is an evil there, so- so evil." Wormtail said with a shudder and gasping a little.

"Go on." Voldemort said dropping Wormtail and turning to face the window once more.

"My lord, I- I've never seen anything like it. The evil, it, well, it seemed to radiate from that forest. I- I dared not go further. I went near the edge and- and it seemed as if the forest itself started to suck the life from- from me." Wormtail said picking himself off of the floor and shuddering at the memory.

"So there is another evil that walks this land. It is just as I thought. I felt it." Lord Voldemort said, his voice just above a whisper.

" You have done well Wormtail, I would have liked more information, but knowing your lack of courage in general impresses me that you got this much information. Lord Voldemort is pleased with you." Voldemort said.

"Thank- thank you my lord." Wormtail stammered and turned to leave.

"Oh and Wormtail, don't forget where your loyalties lie." Voldemort said and looked at Wormtail with such a glare that Wormtail fell over his own feet.

"I- I won't my lord! You are the dark lord, my, my loyalties lie with you!" Wormtail said and left as quickly as he could.

(End of Flashback)

That was earlier in the day, now he had had time to ponder over what he had heard. He was furious and at the same time curious. Something of an enormous evil had arisen and was sending its evil to all parts of the land. Even he, Lord Voldemort, was being affected. He made a fist and squeezed so hard that blood seeped from the palm of his hand where his nails had dug into the flesh. Then suddenly it happened. His body was wrenched in pain that drove him to his knees. He wanted to cry out, but he could not allow his minions to hear this. To do so would show weakness and that was something he could not afford. To show weakness would be to admit that there is an evil out there even more powerful than him. His servants were mostly cowards, only serving him out of fear. They would think nothing of jumping sides and serve this new creature. The pain slowly subsided and finally left. He picked himself up from the floor and the leant against the wall as he tried to catch his breath.

'This won't do! That bastard thing is draining me of my power! That's the second time. It can't go on. I will have to deal with this upstart.' Voldemort thought to himself as he did his best to regulate his breathing after the experience.

l—l

It had been his last day in Saint Mungo's Hospital and Harry was overjoyed. He had never been overly fond of hospitals and especially not Saint Mungo's. Sure he'd visited other people in the hospital, but being inside himself was tedious and irritated him to no ends. He was glad his torturous experience was over but he had had enough of Saint Mungo's. Pedro had left a day earlier than him and had been escorted away by none other than professor Dumbledore.

Harry had asked as to what will happen to Pedro and professor Dumbledore had told him not to worry about Pedro because he (professor Dumbledore) would take care of Pedro as he had something special in mind for the street urchin. Harry had wondered at this and at first was worried about Pedro's memory being modified. But then when professor Dumbledore had assured him that he had plans for Pedro Harry was sure that Pedro was not going to have his memory modified if professor Dumbledore had found a use for him.

Harry had grown attached to Pedro, who had helped him escape that hell hole of the Dursleys. Harry sighed and just then he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey Harry! How're you doing mate? We were shocked when we heard what had happened to you!" Ron said appearing around the corner as he entered Harry's room.

"Hey there Ron! Good to see you!" Harry said his face breaking out into a wide grin at the sight of his friend.

It had been arranged for Harry to stay with the Weasley family for the remainder of the holidays. Ron looked a little taller than when Harry had last seen him. He wasn't quite as gangly as before because he seemed to fit better in his clothes.

"Mom and dad are on their way, at least we can have some fun at home." Ron said, though his voice did not carry that conviction.

Ron had been shocked at Harry's appearance. Some bruising was still evident on Harry's face and he looked extremely malnourished.

"Definitely. We can play some quidditch!" Harry said beaming at the thought of his most cherished sport, the most popular sport in the wizarding world.

Ron's mouth opened to say something but just then Mrs. Weasley entered the room and burst into tears at the sight of Harry. She then engulfed him in a huge hug that threatened to suffocate Harry.

"Oh you poor dear! How could those horrible people have done that to you?" she wailed.

"Molly dear, I think you're crushing the lad." Mr. Weasley's voice came from behind his wife.

"Oh, sorry dear. Don't worry, we'll take good care of you." Molly Weasley said as she started mopping her eyes with a tissue.

"Well Harry, I really am sorry you had to go through all of that. Don't worry, steps are being taken to correct the situation and hopefully a way so that you don't have to go back. Though how I don't know, but we're doing our best to find a solution." Arthur Weasley said as he patted Harry gently on the shoulder.

"Thanks Mr. Weasley." Was all Harry said, he didn't know what else to say because the mere thought of his experience was just about to painful for him.

"Right, shall we go? Everything packed?" Mr. Weasley said.

"Yes, I'm all set." Harry set eager to leave the hospital.

l—l

The journey from the hospital was an uneventful one but Harry was happy. He was with friends and people who cared about him and not beat him. Ron and his father took Harry's luggage upstairs to Ron's room where Harry would be sleeping for the duration of the holidays. Harry had wanted to help carry his things but the Weasley family had insisted on carrying the luggage on account of Harry's state. As Harry entered Ron's room he saw that a huge toilet seat, which was wrapped in a blue bow, was lying on the bed in which he normally slept.

"What on earth is this?" Harry asked raising an eyebrow and grinning at the toilet seat.

"Oh, that, well, it's from Fred and George. It's that toilet seat they wanted to give to you in Hogwarts in your first year but were disallowed by Madam Pomfrey. They decided that now was an appropriate time for you to finally receive your gift." Ron said chuckling a little.

"I had completely forgotten about that!" Harry said chuckling at the sparkling white toilet seat with blue bow lying on his bed.

"They shouldn't have." He said smiling.

"That's what I said, hope they sanitized it properly mate." Ron said looking dubiously at the toilet seat.

Harry was about to remove the toilet seat when he felt a searing pain in his head. He grabbed at his scar that was paining and fell to the floor. Ron, who was totally shocked by this, quickly came to his side and tried to help him up.

"Are you okay?" Ron said in a worried voice.

Harry wanted to answer but suddenly felt as if all his energy had been drained from him and he went limp in Ron's arms as he slipped into oblivion.

"Mom! Dad! Harry's passed out!" Ron yelled.

l—l

A/N and that is where I leave this chapter dear readers. Hope it wasn't too boring and not a waste of your time. I'm going to try and be more up to date as regards updating the story. Once more sorry for the long delay in this update.

Cheers

Lost in A World of Pain


End file.
